


On the Getaway Mile

by wordslinging



Series: 1930s Dragverse [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: 1930s Dragverse, Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last year of Prohibition, and bootlegger Frank Iero wants to sever his ties to the world of organized crime and go straight, but his mob connections have other plans for him. No one would like to see Frank get away from the mob more than Gerard, but he's got problems of his own--like the fact that he's a cross-dressing cabaret singer constantly struggling to keep his true identity secret from those who can't be trusted. With the help of a devoted brother, a detective who just might be as trustworthy as he claims, and a wealthy, eccentric Scotsman who features prominently in Gerard's past, Frank and Gerard just might be able to get out and start a new life together, but it's not going to be easy. A tale of gangsters, garter belts, love (hopefully) overcoming all obstacles, and a whole lot of coffee.</p><div class="center"></div>
            </blockquote>





	On the Getaway Mile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bandom Big Bang in 2011, original master post with links to fanmix and fanart can be found [here](http://wordslinging.livejournal.com/20851.html). Sequel to [Shook-Up World](http://wordslinging.livejournal.com/18704.html), which should probably be read first. Apparently, "period pieces where Gerard crossdresses" is a niche I am _very_ comfortable in. Standard disclaimers apply: these representations of real people are entirely fictional and nonprofit, I've tried to make sure there are no glaring inaccuracies but the bulk of my research was Wikipedia and gangster movies. I do want to mention my main form of research that was neither of those things, the documentary [Before Stonewall](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088782), which is well worth a viewing if queer history is relevant to your interests. Many thanks to my awesome betas, [](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/profile)[**fleurdeliser**](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/), [](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/profile)[**ciel_vert**](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/), and [](http://mistresscurvy.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mistresscurvy.livejournal.com/)**mistresscurvy**.
>
>> Non-Archive Warnings: homophobia, no explicit noncon but does feature some consent issues such as teenage prostitution and characters in threatening situations 

_Gerard walks as far as he can that first night, until he feels too exhausted to take another step. Finally he stops and looks around, figuring he'd better find somewhere to rest for a while._

_According to the signpost he passed a while back, he's a good few miles from the nearest town in either direction. There might be farmhouses off the road a ways, but it's too late to knock on anyone's door, and he doesn't want to talk to anyone right now anyway, doesn't feel up to fielding questions about what he's doing out at this hour, or where he's going and why. Without any better ideas, he heads for the scrubby tree line a few feet from the road, head down and feet dragging. Once he's far enough in that he'll hopefully be out of sight from the road, he settles down with his back against a tree trunk and his baggage on either side of him--a canvas rucksack and a battered suitcase, holding everything he cared about enough to take from home._

_Everything he could carry, anyway._

_He feels a fresh surge of guilt every time he thinks about Mikey waking up to find the note he left. Before tonight, Gerard would never have believed he could leave home without Mikey. He still doesn't think he could have if he'd seen any other way. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the tree trunk, words echoing back to him unbidden._

_("At least no one else has found out about this yet. Just give me the clothes, I'll get rid of them, and we'll forget this ever happened."_

_"No."_

_"...What did you just say?"_

_"I said no. They're mine, I bought them with my money, and I don't _want_ you to get rid of them."_

"Now listen here, if you think I'm going to have a son living under my roof and carrying on like this, you've got another think coming."

"God, I knew you'd be like this if you ever found out. I _knew_ you wouldn't understand. What exactly is so wrong about what I'm doing? They're just clothes, it's not like I'm _hurting_ anyone."

"If you even have to ask that, this is even worse than I thought. For God's sake, I can't even look at you right now.")

_Gerard wipes his eyes with the back of one hand, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. As bad as his father's anger had been, his mother's silence had almost been worse. She'd just stood there, arms folded tightly, but the look on her face..._

_She'd been the one to bring the argument to an end, telling his father to stop shouting before he woke the neighbors. Gerard had waited for Mikey to go back to sleep, calming him down with reassurances that felt like lies, and then crept out to sit at the top of the stairs, listening to his parents talking in the kitchen below._

("--need to figure out what we're going to do about this."

"I _know_ what I'm going to do about it. Tomorrow every scrap of clothing in that closet that we didn't buy is going in the furnace, and if he tries to stop me, he'll get what's coming to him."

"Fine, and then what? He's been doing this under our noses long enough to buy all those things, you think he's just going to stop?"

"Oh, he'll stop. I'll make sure of that."

"What, with your fist? And what if _that_ doesn't work? Look, I'm not saying we don't need to deal with this, but striking out in anger could just make the whole thing worse. You _know_ how stubborn he can be."

"Then what?"

"I think we need to get him some help. Find a doctor or someone who can tell us why he's been doing this and how to stop it. We need to figure out what's _wrong_ with him so we can fix it.")

 _Gerard had crouched at the top of the steps, willing himself not to make a sound. He'd wanted to rush downstairs and confront them, but nothing he could have said would have made a difference. That was what this was, to them--what_ he _was, now. Something wrong. Something to be fixed._

_That was when he felt sure he had to get out. He just hopes Mikey can understand, and forgive him._

_A gust of wind rustles the trees around him and he shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. It's early spring, and still too cold to be comfortable outside this late, even in his heavy coat. At least it's been dry lately._

_He can't stay here too long--the best thing he can do right now is keep moving--but he has to rest at least a little while. He curls up into a tight little ball, drawing his knees up and resting his head on his folded arms, and closes his eyes._

* * *

"You're on in five, Louise."

Gerard looks up, startled out of his thoughts, and then smiles faintly. "Thanks, Cherie."

He turns back to the mirror, pencil in hand, making tiny last-minute adjustments to his eyeliner. There's a little flutter of nerves in his stomach, which makes no sense, because tonight's performance is nothing new, nothing he hasn't done a hundred times before.

Across from him, Cherie takes her spot at the wide mirror, looking over at Gerard with faint concern. "You okay? You've seemed...I don't know, kind of distracted lately."

Gerard shakes his head. "Just...lost in thought, I guess." He looks down at the makeup table in front of him, sets down the pencil, picks up a powder brush. "You ever look back on your life and wonder how the hell you ended up where you did? Not in a bad way, just...when you were younger, you never would have expected things to turn out this way?"

"Every damn day, sweetheart," Cherie tells him, smiling wryly. There's a soft knock on the door, and she jerks her head toward it. "Go knock 'em dead."

* * *

The smells of cigarettes and cheap bootleg liquor greet him like old friends as he walks on stage. He gets a scattering of applause and a few whistles, grins and blows a kiss in the direction the latter came from, and curls one hand around the microphone as he steps up to it. He's singing a bunch of old standards tonight, songs he could perform in his sleep, which is good because he's still distracted, scanning the crowd. He doesn't like what he sees--Frank's usual table is empty, and either he's way in the back where Gerard can't see him, or he's not here at all.

Gerard makes himself focus on singing, putting Frank out of his thoughts for now. It could be no big deal--he could just be caught in traffic or stuck on a slow train--and in any case there's nothing Gerard can do while he's up on stage. He's still distracted and he knows he doesn't give his best performance, but he tries not to worry too much.

He's back in the dressing room afterward, fussing pointlessly with his hair, when there's a light rap on the door.

"Hey, ladies. Everyone decent in here?"

Gerard turns a little too quickly for it to look casual, and smiles in relief. Frank looks fine, at least, leaning against the doorway with his hat in one hand and a faintly apologetic look.

"Darling, I make it a point to never be decent," Cherie drawls from across the room, and Frank shoots her a grin as he walks over to Gerard.

"Hey," he says softly, bending to kiss Gerard with one hand on the back of his chair. "Sorry I'm late."

Gerard tilts his face up to be kissed, but then draws back to look at Frank, brow furrowed. "Where were you?"

Frank shrugs. "I got caught up with something. It's fine."

A month ago, Gerard might have been satisfied with just that. "Frank..."

"It's fine," Frank says again, firmly. He smiles again, reaching up to tuck Gerard's hair behind his ear. "Now, how about I take you out to make up for missing the show?"

Gerard returns the smile, reaching up to touch Frank's cheek. "I'm a little tired, actually." He kisses Frank again, then tilts his head to whisper, "So how about you make it up to me back at my place instead?"

Frank kisses the corner of his mouth, then stands up and finds Gerard's wrap, draping it around his shoulders. "I think that can be arranged."

* * *

Frank seems to take that bit about making it up to Gerard to heart--they're barely through the door before he's tugging Gerard into his arms and kissing him. Gerard twines his arms around Frank's neck, taking his hat off and tossing it carelessly in the general direction of the coat rack so he can run his hands through Frank's hair. Frank does the same thing with Gerard's wrap, his hand sliding over Gerard's shoulders and then pressing firmly against the center of his back while his mouth trails down Gerard's neck.

He turns them suddenly, backing Gerard up against the door while his hands slide down to Gerard's hips. "God, you're so fucking gorgeous," he says against Gerard's collarbone, and then pulls back and drops smoothly to his knees. Gerard sucks in a huge breath as Frank's hands slide up his legs, the fabric of the dress bunching around his wrists as he pushes it up, and then whimpers, one hand flying back to Frank's hair, as Frank leans right in and mouths at the line of Gerard's cock through his panties.

Two months and change since they got together, and the dresses and stockings and all the rest of it are still just as much of a turn-on for Frank as they were the first time. Gerard figured the novelty would fade after a while, but Frank loves it, loves running his hands over silky fabric and burying his face in Gerard's hair to smell his perfume, loves helping Gerard get dressed in the morning almost as much as he loves undressing him slowly at night. The last time Gerard was having this much mostly-clothed sex, he was still a teenage runaway sucking cock in dim back alleys.

Unsurprisingly, he finds he really, really prefers having _his_ cock sucked in the comfort of his own apartment while wearing a gorgeous evening gown.

Frank braces his forearm across Gerard's hips, pressing him back against the door and holding the dress up at the same time. With his other hand, he undoes Gerard's garters with practiced ease, tugs the panties down, then moves back in and licks a stripe up the length of his cock.

"Jesus, Frankie," Gerard breathes, tightening his grip on Frank's hair as his hips rock forward. Frank spends a few more seconds teasing, then slides his mouth over Gerard's cock, taking him deep. Gerard moans, tipping his head back against the door. Frank doesn't let up for a second, curling his hand around the base of Gerard's cock, tracing the underside of the shaft with his tongue. When Gerard rocks forward again helplessly, Frank makes an encouraging sound, and Gerard slides his fingers through Frank's hair and thrusts into his mouth gently, his other hand splayed against the door to steady himself when his legs feel start to feel weak, thighs trembling.

Frank reaches his hand back behind Gerard's balls, fingers probing gently, and swallows around him, and that's it--Gerard lets out a short, sharp cry, curling forward over Frank, and comes hard. Frank pulls back part of the way, swallowing smoothly, and then sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Jesus," Gerard says again, running his nails over Frank's scalp lightly. "I ought to think of things you need to make up to me more often."

Frank gets to his feet, backs Gerard against the door again with a hand on his waist. "That was just the first round," he says with a smirk. "We should probably try to make it to the bedroom for round two, though."

He leans in, kissing Gerard deeply. Gerard slips his tongue into Frank's mouth, tasting himself there, and puts one hand on his chest, pushing off the door. His panties are still pooled around his ankles, and he steps out of them carefully and leaves them where they are, starting on Frank's clothes as he backs him through the living room and into the narrow hallway. By the time they get to the bedroom, he's got Frank's jacket, tie, and belt off, all of them left strewn across the floor. They both kick off their shoes, and Gerard starts on Frank's shirt, leaning in for a kiss as he undoes the buttons. Frank curls a hand around to the small of Gerard's back and then skims his fingers up to find the zipper on his dress.

Gerard pushes Frank's suspenders off his shoulders with the shirt, gets his fly open and shoves his pants down, and then the back of Frank's knees hit the bed and he goes down with a little huff of breath as he hits the mattress. He moves his hands to Gerard's hips and tugs at the dress until it slides down, and Gerard steps free and stands between Frank's spread knees. He eases the straps of the chemise down his arms, letting it slip down and pool around his waist, and Frank pulls him a little closer, leaning in to kiss Gerard's stomach. Gerard slides his hands through Frank's hair, holding him in place, and lets out a little sigh. As much as Frank loves the clothes, loves seeing him all done up or disheveled and debauched, Gerard knows he loves this part, too, when it all comes off and leaves the secret self Gerard doesn't show to many people.

Gerard lets go of Frank to reach behind himself and unhook his padded bra, takes his jewelry off and leans across to drop it on the nightstand. Frank pushes the chemise the rest of the way down, trailing damp, open-mouthed kisses across Gerard's skin to the curve of his hipbone as he rolls his stockings down. Gerard touches his face, tilts Frank's chin up so he can lean down and kiss him, and when Frank scoots back on the bed and tugs at his hips, Gerard climbs up after him, straddling Frank's lap.

Frank rocks up against him, his hand on the small of Gerard's back. Gerard presses down, rolling his hips, and then Frank's biting back a curse and fumbling for the jar they keep in the nightstand. Gerard gasps at the press of his fingers, moving his hips in the same easy rhythm as Frank stretches him.

"I need you," Gerard whispers, rocking down onto Frank's fingers. "Frankie--"

He breaks off with a little moan as Frank twists his fingers and pulls them out. Frank fumbles for his own cock, lining himself up, and Gerard braces his hands on Frank's shoulders and starts to sink down. He goes slowly at first, then sucks in a breath and drops the rest of the way down in one quick motion.

" _Fuck_ ," Frank hisses, gripping Gerard's waist. His hips twitch upward a little, but he holds himself still, waiting for Gerard to move.

Gerard cups Frank's face in his hands, kissing him again and again, rolling his hips in tiny circles. Frank moves one hand around, splaying his fingers against the small of Gerard's back. His other hand trails up Gerard's stomach to his chest. He moves with Gerard, quick, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, longer. Gerard arches his spine and lets his head fall back, steadied by Frank's hand on his back and his hands on Frank's shoulders.

Frank leans up to kiss Gerard's neck, trails his fingers along Gerard's collarbone and follows them with his mouth. Gerard flexes his thighs, bearing down on Frank's cock, and then Frank lets out a muffled shout and bites Gerard's shoulder and Gerard moans as he feels Frank come deep inside him.

Gerard slides his arms around Frank's neck and leans his forehead against Frank's, letting out a sigh. Frank wraps his arms around Gerard and holds him tight, and they stay like that for a little while, pressed together, Frank still inside Gerard.

"Fuck," Frank murmurs, pulling back to kiss Gerard. "You--"

Gerard reaches up to frame Frank's face with his hands, kissing him softly, lingering. "You," he whispers, and then pulls off gently, slipping off the bed and into the bathroom.

Frank goes into the bathroom as he comes out, and Gerard changes into a nightgown and gets back into bed. Frank joins him there a minute later, sliding his arm around Gerard's waist and kissing under his ear. Gerard rolls toward him, nuzzling his cheek against Frank's shoulder.

He almost doesn't say anything, it's so nice right now, but he knows it's going to keep bugging him if he doesn't ask. "Frank?"

"Mm?" Frank cranes his neck, looking down at Gerard.

"Where were you tonight?" Gerard asks him.

Frank looks away. "I told you, I got caught up with something," he says bluntly.

"What sort of something?" Gerard presses.

Frank pulls away from him and sits up, looking exasperated. "Gerard--"

"Frankie, you know I wouldn't care so much if it weren't obvious you don't want to tell me," Gerard points out.

Frank looks at him for a moment, then sighs and nods. "Yeah, I know."

Gerard reaches for his hand, waiting. Frank twines their fingers together, squeezing gently.

"Some guys had to go pay someone a visit," he says. "I drove."

"What sort of a visit?" Gerard asks warily.

"Didn't ask, don't want to know," Frank says shortly. Gerard looks at him uncertainly, and he shrugs. "Seriously, I stayed in the car." He raises one hand, stroking Gerard's jaw with the backs of his fingers. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Gerard says, leaning into the touch automatically. "I just...you know I worry."

"I know," Frank says, and leans over to kiss him softly. "And I'm sorry about tonight, really. Hey, what time do you have to be at work tomorrow?"

"Not 'til around nine," Gerard tells him. "Why?"

"How about I take you out for dinner?" Frank suggests. "It's been a while since we went out anywhere but Rouge, and I don't feel like that really counts considering you work there."

Gerard smiles. "Sounds nice. But you don't have to keep making it up to me, you know."

"Who says I'm still trying?" Frank counters. "Do I need a reason to take my best girl out for a nice meal?"

Gerard's smile widens, and he reaches up to pull Frank down for another kiss. "Oh, well, when you put it _that_ way..."

* * *

When Gerard wakes up the next day, Frank's standing in front of the vanity mostly dressed, knotting his tie with quick, sure fingers. Gerard pushes himself up on one elbow and runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down where it's sticking up in back. He's got a headache and the makeup he didn't bother to wash off last night is all gummed up around his eyes.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Almost ten," Frank says, turning toward him. "I made coffee, but I've gotta get going--I need to meet with a couple of people, and I need to stop off at my place first."

Frank spends enough time at Gerard's apartment to have his own key and keep a change of clothes there, but he's resisted any suggestion of just moving in, and Gerard can count on one hand the times he's been to Frank's place rather than Frank coming to his. Gerard doesn't make a big deal out of it--they've gotten pretty serious pretty fast, so maybe it's good to keep some kind of buffer. And he has a feeling Frank has reasons for not wanting Gerard at his apartment, reasons that probably have to do with his business, and that's a touchy subject.

Frank walks over to the bed, leaning down for a kiss. "See you tonight?"

Gerard reaches up to touch Frank's cheek, kissing him softly. "You bet. I've got some errands to run, but I should be done by afternoon."

After Frank leaves, Gerard drags himself out of bed, finds his kimono and heads out to the kitchen. Two cups of coffee and a cigarette later, he's feeling vaguely human--human enough, anyway, to start the somewhat lengthy process of girding his loins.

When he was a kid, he never used to like spending a lot of time on grooming. It always seemed like a drag, as much of a chore as doing the dishes or cleaning the barn. When he started dressing up, he got used to spending more time on his appearance because, well, he had to. Over time, it's become a ritual he genuinely enjoys--taking the time and care it requires, transforming himself.

He runs a bath and lets himself soak for a while, then shaves his legs, towels off, puts his kimono back on and sits down at the vanity to do his hair. The finger-wave style he favors takes a while to do, working carefully through his hair with curling fluid and a comb. While he's doing that, he studies his face in the mirror and decides he'd better shave there, too. He's never been a very hairy guy, which makes this a lot easier, but even a little stubble in the wrong place is bad news.

The last step before he puts on his clothes, and his favorite one, is doing his makeup--a light daytime look for now, as opposed to the thick smoky eye and crimson lip he'll change to later. Then he gets dressed one layer at a time: lingerie, stockings, skirt, blouse, low-heeled shoes he can walk around in comfortably, scarf, gloves, coat, hat. By the time he's ready to go out, it's almost noon.

It's a pretty typical day of errands--pick some things up at the cleaner's, drop others off, stop at the drugstore for a few necessities, including a new pair of stockings to replace the ones that got a run in them last week, lunch at a deli counter because he doesn't think there's anything appetizing in the apartment, which probably means he should stop at the grocer's on his way home.

Before the grocer, he goes by the post office. It's been a few days since he checked his box here, and when he opens it up there's two things in there, which is about as full as it ever gets. The first is a postcard that, at a glance, seems to be from some sunny location that's probably a lot nicer than New York in early March. That's got to be from Grant, which means the envelope under it...yep, Gerard turns it over and sees Mikey's familiar handwriting. Gerard's hand shakes just the slightest bit as he picks up both the letter and the postcard, tucking them carefully into his handbag. He'll wait until he's home to read them.

He'd written to Mikey a few weeks after Christmas, when he knew he'd be back at school in Boston. _You're never going to believe who showed up,_ he'd begun, and after writing about his unexpected reunion with Frank (omitting certain details like the fact that they'd gone straight from Gerard's dressing room to his bedroom), Gerard had launched into an awkward half-apology, half-justification for keeping Mikey at bay all these years.

 _I've spent so long thinking I had to keep my life here as separate as I possibly could from the life I used to have back at home,_ he'd written. _Like they were two live wires that would explode if I let them touch. I'm starting to suspect I've been an idiot to include you and Frank in that._

 _I could have told you that much,_ Mikey had written in his reply, and Gerard could imagine the dry tone he would have said that in, but had trouble hearing it in his head with the voice of a grown man and not the boy Mikey had been when he left.

In his next letter, Gerard presented the same argument he'd given Frank--if their parents ever found out he and Mikey were still in contact, it'd be bad enough. If Mikey ever came to see him in New York and they found out, it'd be even worse.

But now, when Gerard gets home, brews a fortifying pot of coffee, and sits down at the table with the letter in front of him, he's not surprised to find that Mikey isn't having it.

_You chose being true to yourself over them, don't I get to make the same choice? You left home so you could live the life you want--I'm still figuring out what the life I want is, but I know I want you to be part of it. If Mom and Dad have a problem with that, I'll deal with it._

Gerard doesn't have much of a counterargument there. Or rather, he does, but he knows Mikey would just dismiss it, tell him he's being stupid. Frank will do the same if Gerard shares it with him. They may be right--hell, they probably are--but that doesn't stop his stomach from churning and his hands from shaking a little more as he reads the rest of the letter.

_Look, Gee--if you don't want to see me, for whatever reason, I wish you'd just tell me. Whatever it is, I'd rather know. But if it's really my relationship with Mom and Dad you're worried about, you have to let me make that choice for myself. I deserve that much, don't I?_

He does. He deserves a lot more than that, starting with a better brother.

_If any of this is getting through to you, I've got Easter break coming up at the beginning of April and I've already told Mom and Dad I'd rather stay in Boston for it. I can take the train to New York and back and they'll never have to know anything about it. If you want me to. Otherwise, please just be honest with me about why you don't._

He signs off the way he always does: _I miss you._

Gerard sits with the letter in his hand for what seems like a long time, long enough that when he gets up to refill his coffee the pot's gone lukewarm. Gerard sips it anyway, sits back down at the table and picks up the postcard from Grant. It's short and sweet and it brings an unexpected grin to his face--Grant's hoping to be back in New York sometime that spring. He doesn't have dates yet, but he'll send Gerard a telegram when he does, or when he's back in a place he can send a telegram from, whichever comes first. Still smiling, Gerard takes the postcard into the living room and puts it in the box with Grant's other postcards and letters.

Grant would probably tell him he's being an idiot about Mikey, too.

* * *

Frank shows up a few hours later. He's in a good mood--Gerard can hear him whistling as he comes down the hall.

"Hey, you," Gerard says as he opens the door, smiling. "Good day?"

"Can't complain." Frank leans in for a kiss, tucking Gerard's hair behind his ear. "You?"

Gerard smiles wryly. "I'll tell you about it over dinner."

Frank raises an eyebrow, but doesn't press. "If you say so."

Frank likes to play the gentleman to an exaggerated degree when they go out, holding doors open and pulling chairs out for Gerard, and tonight is no exception. It makes Gerard feel a little ridiculous sometimes, because it's not like he needs or expects Frank to do that stuff for him. But if Frank wants to do it without being asked, it's nice--really nice--to be on the receiving end.

"So what's going on?" Frank asks once they've gotten a table and ordered. "Something happen today?"

"Yeah." Gerard toys with his silverware for a moment, then sets it down and laces his fingers together on the tabletop. "I got a letter from Mikey. He wants to come see us soon."

Frank reaches over, covering Gerard's hands with one of his own. "And?" he prompts gently.

Gerard lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging a little. "And I'm terrified, okay? I know you don't get it--"

Frank shrugs. "I really don't, baby. I'm trying to, but I just don't...it's _Mikey_. What are you so afraid of?"

Gerard looks down, pressing his lips together tightly. If there's anyone he should be able to talk this out with, it's Frank. Or maybe Grant, but Grant's on another continent right now.

"What if," he finally begins. "What if I let him come see me and he doesn't like what he sees?" He looks up to see Frank's reaction; Frank's brow is furrowed and he looks sympathetic, but he still doesn't look like he gets it. "This--" Gerard frees one hand to gesture at himself, the clothes, the makeup, "used to be something I'd do once in a while. Like putting on a Halloween costume. Not my _life_."

"But he _knows_ you do it all the time now," Frank says. "And he's never had a problem with it, has he?"

"He knows from _letters_ ," Gerard counters. "Being here, seeing it, that's different. I'm not saying he's been telling me he's okay with it when he really isn't, I'm saying...what if he _thinks_ he's okay with it, and it's only when he gets here that he realizes he's not?"

Frank pauses a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Do you think that'd happen? I mean, do you really think he'd care more about what you're wearing than about being with you again?"

Gerard shrugs helplessly. "Logically, I know it probably wouldn't happen. Logically, I've told myself I'm being an idiot over and over. But..." he trails off, and Frank squeezes his hand gently.

"But what? Gee, I'm trying to understand this so I can help you. Tell me."

Gerard spots the waiter heading in their direction, which buys him a short reprieve. But even though he's hungry, when the waiter walks away he just pokes at his food for a few seconds before he puts his fork down and speaks up.

"It's like this--I lost my parents a long time ago. I don't regret leaving home and I'd do it again, but, well...sometimes it still hurts. I still miss them."

Frank nods, reaching to touch Gerard's hand again. "I get that."

"And Mikey...at first, I was afraid I'd lost him, too. I was afraid he'd hate me for leaving. Then we started writing each other, and he was still part of my life. At a distance, not as completely as he could be, but he's _there_. I can talk to him, he's not cut off from me the way Mom and Dad are. And if I see him again, yeah, he could be a more complete part of my life again. _Or_ everything could get fouled up--and even knowing that most likely wouldn't happen, I can't help but be afraid it might. And if it did, I'd lose the last family member I have left."

Frank's quiet for a moment, reaching for his water glass and taking a sip. "No, you wouldn't," he says softly as he sets the glass down.

Gerard looks up, almost startled, and then smiles. He really, really wants to kiss Frank right now, but the table's a little too wide for that. He squeezes Frank's hand instead. "No. But still--if I lost Mikey, I don't know if I could deal with that. And keeping him at bay...it's turned into a way to stave that off. As long as our relationship is long-distance, I'm not so afraid of fucking it up." He sighs and looks off to the side, fighting the tears that want to well up in his eyes. "Except I'm a terrible sibling and a terrible person and if I lost him it would serve me right."

"Hey--" Frank gets up from his chair, kneeling next to Gerard's and touching his chin to turn Gerard's face to his. "Cut that out. You're not a terrible anything. But you're also not being fair to Mikey _or_ yourself, and you both deserve better than this. Okay?"

Gerard looks at Frank, at his solemn, earnest face and the tie he wore because he knows Gerard likes it and the way he doesn't seem to care at all that people at other tables are starting to look at them. Gerard's eyes are still watery, but he smiles. "Okay."

"Good." Frank pulls out his pocket handkerchief and gives it to Gerard, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'm gonna go sit back down before the waiter thinks I'm proposing or something. Unless you want some free champagne, I happen to know the owner's got a nice stash in back."

Gerard laughs softly, pulling back to dab at his eyes with Frank's handkerchief. "Go on. The nice meal you wanted to take me out for's getting cold."

Frank returns to his chair, picking up his fork. "Just think it over, okay? I'd like to see him, too, y'know. You could save me a ticket to Boston."

"I'll think it over," Gerard promises.

* * *

They stick to neutral, pleasant topics for the rest of dinner, and Gerard's feeling pretty good as they leave the restaurant, tucking his hand into Frank's arm when he offers it. It's a mild night, cold but not windy or wet, and he can hear jazz music filtering out of a club somewhere. It's really nice, until he notices the tension in Frank's shoulders as they walk.

"Frankie?" Gerard asks softly.

"Hang on," Frank replies quickly. He moves so that Gerard's partly in front of him, one hand on Gerard's arm and another at the small of his back.

"What is it?" Gerard asks, his heart speeding up a little.

Frank doesn't answer, just steers Gerard around the next corner they come to. It's a wrong turn, out of their way, and when they get around the corner Frank stops, putting himself in front of Gerard and holding still.

A moment later, a man comes around the corner, tall, dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes with a fedora pulled low. He freezes when he sees them standing there.

"So you're following me now?" Frank demands, blunt and challenging. "And, no offense, not really doing a great job of it."

The man squares his shoulders, a calculating look on his face. Reassessing, adjusting. "Okay," he says steadily. "I underestimated you. You're a smart guy, Frank. All the more reason why you should talk to me."

Frank snorts. "You must not think I'm that smart, if you think flattery's gonna get you anywhere."

"Frank, what's--who is this guy?" Gerard interrupts.

The man's eyes shift to him, and he reaches up and takes his hat off, revealing hair that might be curly if it wasn't slicked down within an inch of its life. "My name's Ray Toro, ma'am. I'm a detective. And I'm trying to get your boyfriend to let me help him."

"Hey, don't talk to her," Frank says, inserting himself more firmly between Gerard and Toro. "You don't have anything to say to her, and I don't have anything to say to you. You want to help me, fuck off before someone sees me talking to you."

"I told you, I can offer you protection," Toro says. "I can vouch for every man in my unit--"

"Yeah?" Frank challenges. "How about the other units? The brass? The beat cops? Can you vouch for all of them?"

Toro sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't have to keep asking, you know. I've got more than enough cause to take you downtown right now. Even if I didn't, who'd stop me?"

Gerard tenses, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder. It's been a long time since he had to run from a cop, and he's wearing _completely_ the wrong shoes for it.

"You could do that," Frank replies calmly. "It doesn't mean I'll tell you anything--I can clam up _real_ good when I've got a reason to, and there's nothing you can threaten me with that's worse than what'll happen if I talk. But if that's the way you want to do it, go ahead."

" _Frank_ ," Gerard hisses, but Toro looks conflicted. He's got an open, honest sort of face, and that's not doing him any favors right now.

The standoff holds for a few more seconds, and then Toro shakes his head, frowning. "Sooner or later, you're gonna realize you need help, Frank. I just hope when you do, it's not too late for me to give it."

"Save it," Frank says bluntly. He turns and puts his arm around Gerard again, steering him away. Gerard looks over his shoulder, but Toro isn't following them.

"What was that?" he asks in a low voice once they've turned another corner.

"What'd it look like?" Frank says dismissively.

Gerard stops short, tugging on Frank's arm. "Don't do that. How long have the cops been trying to get you to talk? How much does that guy know about you? About _me_?"

Frank turns to face Gerard, his expression serious, and raises a hand to brush Gerard's cheek. "Nobody knows very much about you. Why do you think we never go back to my place?" He starts walking again, steering them toward the nearest subway station. "I make sure I'm not being followed when I go to your place or Rouge, and as far as anyone I do business with knows--and if the cops know more than they do, I'll eat my hat--you're a pretty girl I take to dinner and shack up with once in a while. That's it."

"Okay." A little of the tension leaves Gerard's shoulders--if there's one thing he knows about Frank, it's how well he keeps secrets. "But how much does that cop know about you? How'd he find you?"

"He knows some of the places I do business," Frank tells him as they head down the stairs to the platform. "A week ago I made a drop-off in Brooklyn, and he came up to me at a newsstand a block away afterward. I doubt he's got enough to make a charge stick, but he's right, he could haul me in for questioning if he wanted to play it that way. Luckily for me, he doesn't."

"But he does want you to come in willingly and turn informant," Gerard confirms. That part of the conversation was pretty clear.

"Yeah," Frank says. "But I like not having a hit out on me, so."

Gerard looks over at him, studying his face as they wait for the train. Frank plays things close to the chest when it comes his business, does his best to make it sound like no big deal when he does talk to Gerard about it. Gerard doesn't want to know more than he needs to, but the longer they're together, the more he feels like anything that could lead to Frank getting hurt is something he needs to know about.

Frank smiles crookedly, covering Gerard's fingers where they're still wrapped around his arm. "Hey, don't worry. I'm on top of it. Right now I'm more worried about the pack of queens that'll have my head if I don't get you to work on time."

Gerard returns the smile, not fighting the change of subject. "Leave the queens to me, I can take care of them."

* * *

Frank doesn't stay over that night. For all his easy talk about being on top of things and no one knowing about Gerard, he seems spooked. Knowing that the reason Frank's been keeping distance between them is to protect Gerard is somehow touching and scary at the same time.

After Frank leaves, Gerard puts on his robe and scrubs off his makeup. He wants coffee, makes tea with honey instead (his throat's a little hoarse after performing tonight), and settles in an armchair by the living room window to think.

His exchange with Cherie last night keeps echoing back to him. Eight years ago, he could never have imagined the life he has now. He'd left home so he could live on his own terms, be true to himself, but as a desperate teenage runaway, he couldn't have imagined this: his own little space carved out in the city, more women's clothes in his closet than men's, a job that pays him to act out his Hollywood fantasies for a roomful of people who understand. He _definitely_ couldn't have imagined that little Frankie Iero from back home would stumble back into his life as a bootlegger with a heart of gold and a thing for men in lingerie.

It's terrifying sometimes--the risks he takes every time he steps out of his apartment in a dress, the things Frank does and the people he does them with--but it's also exhilarating, and he's happier than he ever expected to be. Except with all those things he couldn't have imagined, he's missing the one thing he never imagined would be absent from his life: his brother. Letters aren't the same, no matter how much he tries to tell himself they are. And yes, the fear that it'll all go wrong somehow is still gnawing at him, but where would he be now if he hadn't been willing to take big risks for happiness before?

Gerard unfolds himself from the armchair, goes over to the little writing desk tucked in the opposite corner. He's got a letter to write.

* * *

_A few hours later Gerard's on his feet again, walking alongside the road with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head down. Whenever a car comes along he stops to watch it pass, half-hoping they'll stop, half-tempted to hide in the underbrush again in case it's someone looking for him. So far they've all just sped past, not seeming to notice or care about him._

_When one finally slows down, it's a big, fancy Packard, nicer than any car Gerard's ever seen outside of the movies. As it comes to a stop, the driver rolls the window down and leans out, looking at Gerard curiously. At a glance, Gerard puts him somewhere in his thirties, bald, with dark eyes and a nice suit._

_"Where are you headed?" he asks, in a strange, thick accent Gerard can't place._

_"New York City," Gerard says, a bit cautiously. He's wary of the idea of just getting in some stranger's car, but he doesn't exactly want to walk the whole way, either._

_"You're in luck," the man tells him with a smile, jerking his head toward the passenger door. "Jump in."_

_Gerard lifts his suitcase, but he's still reluctant to move toward the car. "How do I know you're not some kind of crazy person or pervert or something?"_

_The man raises his eyebrows, looking amused rather than insulted. "Well...I could tell you I'm neither of those things, but would I admit to being either? In the former case I doubt I'd be self-aware enough, and in the latter it wouldn't really be in my best interest, would it?"_

_"I guess not," Gerard concedes, looking at him uncertainly._

_"You've never done this before, have you, lad?" the man asks gently, and when Gerard just shrugs, he smiles again. "I'm afraid there's not much concrete assurance I can give you, so I won't bear you any ill will if you'd rather just keep walking. Nice, bracing weather for it."_

_Gerard snorts, then shrugs and walks around to the passenger side. "I've got a pocket knife in my coat. You try anything funny, I'm gonna do my best to mess you up," he says matter-of-factly as the man leans over to open the door. "I'm not saying I'll_ succeed, _but I'll try."_

_"I would expect nothing less," the man replies solemnly. He helps Gerard put his suitcase in the back, waits for him to settle in the passenger seat, then offers a hand. "I'm Grant."_

_"I'm Gerard." They shake hands, and then Grant turns back toward the wheel and starts the car again._

_"Well, Gerard, we've got a long drive ahead, so make yourself comfortable," Grant says._

_"Where are you from?" Gerard blurts out, and then feels himself blush. "Sorry, that was rude."_

_"It's fine," Grant says good-naturedly. "I'm from Scotland."_

_"Wow," Gerard says, looking over at him with interest. "I've never met anyone from--well, anywhere in Europe. Actually, I don't think I've ever met anyone from farther away than New York."_

_"You're from around here, then?" Grant asks, nodding at the surrounding countryside._

_Gerard nods. He really hopes Grant doesn't keep asking about himself all the way to New York, but telling him this much seems harmless. "Yeah, back the other way a stretch."_

_He glances sidelong at Grant, who's got his eyes fixed on the road. Gerard's not an idiot--he knows he looks like an easy mark, and he realizes there's a chance that Grant's going to want something in return for his kindness. Maybe money, which Gerard's got some of in his coat pockets and more stashed in his suitcase. Maybe something else, in which case...he's been nice so far and he's nice looking, but Gerard only has a vague idea of what to expect, what he might ask for. It might not be bad. Or it might be very bad, and if it starts looking that way...well, Gerard's just going to have to make good on his threat._

_Grant's head turns slightly, and Gerard drops his gaze quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. He can feel Grant's eyes on him for a few lingering moments, long enough to make him shift awkwardly in his seat._

_"So," Grant says at length, breaking the silence amiably. "Any particular reason for heading to New York, or just because it's there?"_

_Gerard shrugs. "'Because it's there' seems like a good enough reason to me."_

_It's a pretty blatant non-answer, but Grant just smiles. "One of the best reasons I know to travel anyplace."_

_"What about you?" Gerard asks. As cagey as he is about answering Grant's questions, it doesn't really seem fair to ask too many of his own, but he can't help but be curious._

_"I'm on my way home, actually," Grant tells him. "I've been doing some traveling in America, and I'm going to take a steamer back to the UK from New York."_

_"Neat," Gerard says. It sounds like a pretty big adventure, especially given that going to New York will be the biggest adventure he's ever taken. "Have you just been traveling for fun?"_

_Grant nods, and glances over again, flashing a broad smile. "As I said, one of the best reasons to travel anyplace is because it's there."_

__  


* * *

_Even with his guard still up, after walking for hours last night Gerard dozes off in the passenger seat of the Packard. When he feels the car roll to a stop he wakes up, sitting up and looking around blearily. They're outside a small gas station, and the surrounding area doesn't look much like New York City._

_"We've still got a ways to go," Grant says from the driver's seat. "But I for one could use a cup of coffee, and perhaps a sandwich. How about you?"_

_"Sure," Gerard says. He hasn't had anything to eat since dinner last night._

_They get out of the car, and Grant disappears inside the little store while Gerard stretches and then stands by car awkwardly, looking around. There's a picnic table a few feet away, so he goes over and sits down, shoving his hands in his pockets. When Grant comes back and sets a steaming cup and a paper-wrapped sandwich on the table, Gerard smiles and pulls some change out of his pocket._

_"Thanks," he says. "How much...?"_

_"Don't worry about it," Grant tells him, returning the smile._

_Gerard shakes his head, holding his hand out. "No, come on, you're already doing me one huge favor, I don't need any others."_

_Grant puts his hand over Gerard's, gently closing Gerard's fingers around the coins and pushing them toward his chest. "Perhaps I enjoy doing favors for young men who seem as though they could use them."_

_Gerard darts a look up at Grant's face, trying to read his expression, but his easy smile and dark eyes don't give anything away. His fingers are warm against Gerard's, and Gerard looks down self-consciously, pulling his hand back. "Thank you," he murmurs._

_Grant moves away, back toward the car, and Gerard unwraps his sandwich and eats it in silence, sitting curled in on himself with his shoulders hunched. After a few moments he looks over at Grant, studying his profile as he cleans the windshield. Grant seems to sense he's being watched and glances over, and Gerard looks away quickly, feeling his face heat up._

_Wanting things he knows he's not supposed to want is nothing new for Gerard. It goes back way further than the first time he put on a skirt or stole his mom's lipstick. Other guys went to the movies and wished they could be the brave, handsome hero and win the heart of the beautiful heroine, and Gerard knew better than to ever let them know it was the other way around for him. He's just different, and he's used to dealing with it._

_But this isn't like anything he's had to deal with before. He's not sitting alone in his room or the safe darkness of a movie theater where no one can tell what he's thinking. This is very real, and it could still turn out dangerous._

_"Ready to get moving again?" Grant asks, and Gerard nods wordlessly, crumpling his sandwich wrapper into a tight ball._

__  


* * *

_The next time Gerard wakes up, it's from Grant shaking his shoulder. Gerard's been listing to one side, his head lolling against the window, and he startles awake, bumping his head against the cold glass._

_"Ow," he mutters._

_"Sorry," Grant says. "And sorry for waking you, but if this is your first time coming here, you shouldn't miss this."_

_"Wha--?" Gerard starts, confused, and then straightens up, breath catching, as he sees what's up ahead._

_"Oh my god," he whispers, watching the city skyline get closer and closer. "Oh my god, I'm really doing this."_

_"So you are," Grant says, smiling gently._

_When they get into the city, it's overwhelming, all noise and crowds and buildings looming so much taller and closer than what Gerard's used to. He keeps craning his neck and twisting in his seat to try and take in everything._

_He has no idea what to do now, he realizes as they drive through the crowded streets. His whole plan involved getting here, without stopping to think it through because he might lose his nerve if he did. And now he's here and he has twenty bucks of saved-up pocket money to his name and no idea where to go or what to do._

_"So," Grant says after a few minutes, glancing over at Gerard. "Where should I let you off?"_

_"Oh, uh--" Gerard shrugs. "Wherever. Doesn't matter."_

_Grant pauses at a stoplight, looking over again with a raised eyebrow. "Do you have a place to stay, Gerard?" he asks gently._

_Gerard slouches in his seat a little, letting his hair fall into his eyes. "You don't need to worry about that."_

_"Perhaps not," Grant says. "But I'd be a bit reluctant to let a young man who's never been here before wander off into the wilds of New York City alone. And this may be presumptuous, but I've a hotel reservation, and it would be simple enough for someone to bring a cot up to the room for you to sleep on. We could say you're my nephew, perhaps."_

_Gerard bites his lip and looks over at Grant, considering. "You don't have to--you've done more than enough to help me already," he says, but it comes out sounding weak to his own ears._

_"It's no trouble," Grant assures him. "Look, it's not really my business, but it seems like you could use a bit more help--at the very least a warm, safe place to sleep tonight--and it's really no trouble for me to provide you with that much. What do you say?"_

_Walking into the lobby of the Plaza Hotel is like walking into a dream. It's all white and gold, marble floors and crystal chandeliers, and Gerard knows he's staring but he can't stop. He's never stayed in a hotel at all before, let alone one like this._

_Gripping his suitcase and rucksack with sweaty hands, he trails Grant to the front desk, stands there awkwardly while Grant has a low conversation with the clerk there. A few minutes later he's standing awkwardly in an elevator, and a few minutes after that he's standing awkwardly in the sitting area of a gorgeous hotel room while a bellboy sets up a cot and then leaves with a tip from Grant._

_As the bellboy leaves, Grant looks over at Gerard, who's still got a death grip on his baggage._

_"Make yourself at home," he says, nodding toward where his own bags are stowed in the corner. "There should be a room service menu around somewhere, if you'd like something to eat."_

_Gerard drops his things in the corner and turns back toward Grant, gathering his nerve. "Look, I don't really know how this works," he begins, "But I'd rather just be up-front about it, so...what do you want?"_

_Grant raises his eyebrows slightly. "...In what sense?"_

_Gerard folds his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched slightly. "I mean what do you want me to do? Come on, you've done all this stuff to help me out, and there's not a whole lot I can do to repay you. I figured I was letting myself in for_ something, _just tell me what."_

_Grant looks at him calmly, his expression unreadable. "Suppose I told you I don't want any repayment from you?" he asks. "Would you believe me?"_

_"Right, so you picked me up on the side of the road, gave me a ride, bought me lunch and offered to let me spend the night in your hotel room, out of the goodness of your heart with no ulterior motive." Gerard looks straight at him, flat and direct, and raises his own eyebrows. "Just because I grew up on a farm doesn't mean I'm_ completely _naive."_

_"Of course you aren't," Grant says with a wry smile. He thinks for a moment, then gestures to Gerard. "Come here."_

_Gerard's mouth goes dry, but he did just ask what Grant wanted him to do. He swallows hard, straightens his shoulders, and walks closer. Grant takes hold of his shoulders...and steers him to sit down in one of the room's plush armchairs, then backs off, leaning against the arm of the sofa with his arms folded across his chest._

_"To make sure we understand each other, at the risk of being indelicate--you are talking about sex?" he asks._

_Of all the things Gerard might have expected, a direct question like that wasn't one of them. His limited experience mostly involves a variety of creative ways to talk about sex without actually saying you're talking about sex. "Well...yeah," he answers._

_"I thought so," Grant says, nodding. "And if you think you've been detecting certain signs of interest on my part, you're right, but it's not quite what you think."_

_"What is it, then?" Gerard asks warily._

_"Well, to start, I can't blame you for your skepticism, but sometimes people are willing to do favors for strangers with no ulterior motive," Grant starts. "For another, I'd say you're about...seventeen? Eighteen?"_

_"Seventeen," Gerard says._

_"And for the record, I think you're a very handsome young man, but I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of people half my age in vulnerable situations," Grant goes on. "And, finally, you're not the only one who thinks they've been detecting certain signs. I could be wrong--you could just be someone who understands that there are people like myself in the world, without being one of them. But I'm not wrong, am I?"_

_Gerard looks at him defiantly for a moment, afraid to confirm it even with the confirmation Grant just gave him, and then shakes his head._

_"Right. So, we've established that we're similar. You're very young, so I don't know if you have any experience to speak of. I do, and not all of it's pleasant to remember. I don't know if you've ever had a conversation like this before, or had a friend that you knew was like you--like us. I have, and if there's one thing I've learned over the years it's that there are precious few people in the world who'll help or support us if we don't help each other."_

_Gerard watches Grant as he speaks, eyes wide, lips parted slightly in surprise. He definitely wasn't expecting this._

_"So suppose you were me," Grant says. "Someone who feels the same as you do, but older, more experienced. And you pick up a young man on the side of the road, who's traveling from the country to a big city and seems reluctant to discuss why, who you start to pick up certain signs from, and who seems like he's very much in need of someone's help and support. How much aid would you offer him, and what would you ask in return for it?"_

_He leans over and puts a gentle hand on Gerard's shoulder, looking at him with an open, sincere expression._

_"I don't want any kind of repayment from you, Gerard," he says. "_ Any _kind." Smiling, he adds, "But I would like it if you'd let me buy you dinner."_

_They order room service, another first for Gerard. The food comes on a wheeled cart under round silver lids and everything, and all of it, from the food itself to the plates and silverware, is by far the fanciest meal Gerard's ever had. He feels like he's in a movie._

_"I'm afraid I can't offer you more than one night's hospitality," Grant tells him between bites. "The ship I'm taking back home leaves tomorrow."_

_Gerard smiles. "Hey, I was expecting to get dropped off on the first available street corner, find a hostel somewhere, and probably eat table scraps," he says. "Believe me, I'm just grateful for everything you've done so far, I'm not expecting any more."_

_"Well, as long as I'm still here, perhaps there's somewhat more I can do," Grant says._

_"What do you mean?" Gerard asks._

_Grant sets his plate down on the coffee table and sits back on the couch, looking at Gerard thoughtfully. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I can't help but wonder what brought you to this. And whatever you are willing to tell me, I promise I'll try my best to understand, and give you whatever advice I can."_

_Gerard hesitates, lips pressed together tightly. Just the idea of being able to talk to someone about what happened, not keep it bottled up inside, is incredible, but the words stick in his throat._

_"I can take a guess at it," Grant says after a moment. "Family trouble?"_

_Gerard nods, still not daring to actually speak._

_"What kind?" Grant presses._

_"The kind where my dad caught me wearing stockings and lipstick." It just breaks out of Gerard, and he raises his eyes to meet Grant's defiantly, jaw clenched. It's the first time he's ever said anything about it to anyone who didn't see him dressed up first._

_Grant's eyebrows go up, and he nods. "Well," he says matter-of-factly. "That would do it."_

_That's it--that's his whole reaction. Not shock and disgust like Gerard's parents, not even friendly surprise like Frank. Grant just takes it in stride, something no one but Mikey has ever done, and Gerard feels years of tension suddenly loosen in his shoulders and neck. He could kiss Grant right now, he thinks._

_And then he drops his gaze again, biting his lip, because yeah, actually, he could, but Grant already nixed that idea._

_He sets his plate down and settles back in his chair, drawing his legs up. "It's partly my own fault for getting careless, I guess," he says. "I used to just do it when I knew they'd be out of the house for a while, but then I started doing it sometimes when they were asleep. Only this time my dad wasn't as asleep as I thought." He sighs, shaking his head. "The thing is, I_ knew _it was stupid, I_ knew _it was a risk--"_

_"But you wanted to do it more than you cared about the risk," Grant finishes for him. "I've done more than a few things with that philosophy myself."_

_Gerard looks at him speculatively. "Have you ever...?"_

_"Worn women's clothing?" Grant nods, smiling. "A few times, yes. More as an experiment than something I think I'd make a habit of, but I understand the appeal."_

_"Oh my god," Gerard says, equally surprised and delighted. "I mean, I knew I wasn't the first guy to ever do it, but I've never met anyone else who has."_

_"Visit the right places in Greenwich Village and you'll meet a lot more, trust me," Grant tells him._

_"Oh my god, I am_ never leaving _this city," Gerard declares._

_Grant laughs softly. "It's certainly not the worst place for a boy like you to run away to," he says. "Though there are parts of it I wouldn't wear a dress in. You want to make some friends in the Village, they'll give you the lay of the land."_

_Gerard nods. "I guess I'll have to."_

_"So, do you have a plan?" Grant asks. "I'd hate to leave tomorrow thinking I've just left you adrift here."_

_Gerard shrugs. "The plan was getting here. I guess tomorrow I'll start looking for a job. Hopefully something better than selling myself on street corners."_

_Grant's expression turns serious. "You shouldn't joke about that."_

_Gerard ducks his head, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I'm not really joking," he says quietly. "If that's what I have to do to get by here, I'll do it."_

_"You'd rather do that than go home?" Grant asks softly._

_Gerard looks up, meeting his eyes. "They were talking about sending me somewhere to get_ fixed, _" he says flatly. "I'll do anything before I go back there."_

_Grant looks at him solemnly for a moment, then leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Then tell me what I can do to help you."_

_"Besides everything you've done already?" Gerard asks with a wry smile. "Just...this. Tell me stuff. What else you know about the city, or how I can find other people like us...just keep talking."_

_Grant nods, smiling. "I can do that."_

* * *

Frank proposes that he meet Mikey at the train station and bring him to Gerard's place, so they can have their reunion there instead of in a crowded, public place. While he's waiting, Gerard cleans the apartment more thoroughly than he has the entire time he's been living there, smokes half a pack of cigarettes, and drinks so much coffee he doesn't think he'll sleep for the rest of the week. Finally he's left with nothing else to do, sitting at the kitchen table and not even pretending to not watch the clock.

Even with his eyes on the clock, knowing what time to expect them, the knock on the door startles him. He stands up, smoothing the fabric of his dress--he thought about pulling out the men's clothing he keeps around in case he ever needs it, but he would've been dressing that way out of cowardice, and that's not how he wants to go about this--squares his shoulders, and heads for the door.

As he reaches for the doorknob, there's one last sharp stab of doubt, so strong that for a moment he almost wants to run and hide. But giving into that urge isn't even a possibility, because his hand's already turning the knob and the door's already swinging open and there, right in front of him, is a face he hasn't seen in eight years but would know if he hadn't seen it in eight hundred.

For a moment they stare at each other, no one moving or speaking.

"...You got taller than me," Gerard says.

Mikey lets out a strangled half-laugh and steps forward, and Gerard steps back enough to clear the door but no more than that. Mikey keeps coming, barreling straight into Gerard and throwing his arms around him. For a second Gerard just hangs there, gasping as something breaks open inside of him, and then he brings his arms up around Mikey and clings tight.

The door shuts and Gerard looks up--Frank's standing there with Mikey's suitcase in hand, looking like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry as he watches them. He sets the suitcase down by the door, walks over and puts a hand on Gerard's shoulder, and leans in to kiss his temple.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Frank says softly, and then moves away, leaving them alone.

Gerard turns his attention back to Mikey, rubbing a hand up and down his back. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry, for everything."

Mikey pulls back a little, eyes red behind his glasses. "There is no way I would ever stop loving you," he says, voice breaking. " _No way_. You know that, don't you?"

Gerard nods, finding it hard to speak for a moment. All his doubts and fears seemed strong enough to cripple him a few moments ago, but now Mikey's right here, telling him what he should have known was true all along, and they're vanishing like mist. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, of course I do. I love you, too."

Mikey hugs him tightly again, and they cling for a few more moments until Gerard pulls back, keeping an arm around Mikey's shoulders.

"Come on, let's go sit down. You want coffee or anything?"

Frank already has a pot brewing in the kitchen, because he's great. He's leaning casually against the counter, his jacket thrown across the back of a chair, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and he gives Gerard and Mikey a hopeful look as they come in.

"Hey. Everything okay?"

Gerard smiles at him. "Everything's fine," he says.

Mikey slips out from under Gerard's arm and goes to stand next to Frank, who bumps his shoulder against Mikey's companionably. "Well, let me get a good look at you," he says to Gerard, who spreads his arms and turns around obligingly. He's wearing a simple cotton day dress, red with little white flowers, and red shoes. "You look good," Mikey says, calmly approving.

"Glad I pass inspection," Gerard replies. He keeps his tone light, but he really, really means it.

They sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee, and it's one of the best afternoons Gerard's spent in a long time. He'd wondered if it would be awkward, talking face to face after so many years of just letters, but this is just what all those conversations they had through letters should have been. He can't take the time to choose his words as carefully, that's true, but every moment they spend together reminds him he shouldn't need to do that with Mikey, and being able to see him smile and hear him laugh is better than any letter.

Even if--maybe especially if--Mikey and Frank are both laughing at him.

"Seriously," Gerard says, mock indignant. "Women's clothes are just better. I don't think you two want to argue with me about this, given that I'm the only one in this room who's worn both kinds."

"Yeah, but I've helped you put on a girdle," Frank counters. "You cannot tell me that's comfortable."

"Or stockings," Mikey adds. "Or heels."

"Oh, well _that's_ not the point at all," Gerard protests, waving a hand at both of them. "Are those neckties comfortable?"

Mikey laughs again, shaking his head. "I don't get it," he says. "But if it makes you happy, that's all I need to get."

Gerard grins, reaching across the table to cover Mikey's hand with his. "That's because you're the best."

"Hey," Frank protests jokingly. "I thought I was the best."

"He's the best brother, you're the best boyfriend," Gerard amends, then bites his lip and looks over at Mikey. He and Frank hadn't really talked about what to tell Mikey or not tell him, and Gerard doesn't want to _hide_ it, but--

Mikey just rolls his eyes. "Well, I would hope you don't let just _anybody_ help put on your girdle," he says. "Besides, Frank's had a crush on you since we were kids."

"I never told you about that," Frank says, and Mikey just looks at him. "...Okay, fair enough. So, you gonna tag along to Rouge tonight? See your big brother in action?"

Mikey looks over at Gerard, eyebrows raised slightly. "If that's okay...?"

"If you want to, it's fine by me," Gerard says. "There _will_ be men in dresses flirting with you, and when I say flirting, I mean in unprintable language."

"I'll take my chances," Mikey says airily. "If any of them get fresh, Frank can protect me."

Frank shakes his head. "Wish I could, but Gee's not the only one who's gotta work tonight."

Gerard tries not to look as disappointed as he feels. Or as worried. It's hardly the first time Frank's had to work at night--that's an ideal time for bootleg deliveries, after all. It's just that after the last few weeks, Gerard's not so sure this is a simple delivery, and Frank will probably just stonewall if he asks what it is. "All night?"

"Could end up going pretty late, yeah," Frank says. "Hey, how about we go for breakfast at the Nite Owl tomorrow? I should be scott-free by then."

Gerard nods, with a smile he doesn't really feel. "Okay."

He walks Frank to the door a little later, and they linger in the living room for a few moments. As cool as Mikey is with everything, Gerard figures they don't need to make out right in front of him.

"I wish you were coming back here tonight," Gerard says softly, resting his forehead against Frank's.

"Me too," Frank replies, and then smiles teasingly. "But let's face it, I probably wasn't gonna get laid with Mikey sleeping in the next room, was I?"

"Oh, I see how it is with you, just in it for the sex," Gerard says, mock indignant. More seriously, he adds, "Be careful."

"I'm always careful," Frank says lightly, and leans in for one more kiss. "See you tomorrow, baby."

* * *

Except they don't. Gerard and Mikey wait in the diner down the block from Gerard's apartment for almost an hour, order without him when the waitresses start giving them dirty looks, and linger over their empty plates and coffee refills for another half hour after that. Frank never shows.

"He's probably fine," Mikey says. His tone is optimistic, but Gerard can tell it's probably for his benefit. "Right?"

Gerard really wants to agree, but it sticks in his throat. When Frank says he'll be in a certain place at a certain time, he sticks to that unless something keeps him from it.

Mikey eyes Gerard over the tops of his glasses, and damn, that look got _even more effective_ while they were apart. "Unless you have some reason to think he's not, in which case, how worried should I be?"

Gerard glances around. The Nite Owl's not terribly crowded, but it's still not the kind of place he wants to have this conversation. "Not here," he says.

"Okay," Mikey says easily. "Should we keep waiting?"

Gerard hesitates, then shakes his head. "If he gets here and we're gone, he'll go back to my place. Let's go."

The walk back to the apartment is short and tense, and as soon as they're through the door Mikey turns to face Gerard, not even waiting for Gerard to hang up his things.

"So, what's going on?" Mikey asks.

Gerard takes his time, fussing a little, making sure everything goes in the right place. Coat and hat on the rack, handbag resting on the little bench below it, white gloves tucked inside the bag. It gives him a chance to center himself, lets him establish a little order in an uncertain moment. He smooths out his skirt and touches his hair a little self-consciously, then finally turns back toward Mikey.

"How much do you know about what's Frank's been involved in the past few years?" he asks.

Mikey lifts his skinny shoulders in a shrug. "Well, I know he's a bootlegger. I know he started out pretty small-time at home, I remember when he got arrested and jumped bail, and I know he ended up here under a fake last name." Glancing carefully at Gerard, he adds, "And I know there's been a lot of talk in Boston lately about Congress repealing the Volstead Act. Supposedly it might happen before the end of the year."

Gerard nods, crossing to the sofa to sit down. "Yeah. There's been talk about that here, too. So, when Frank started out back home, it was just him and a couple of friends. Small-time, like you said. But when he came here, he got involved with...other people. People who are pretty bad news."

Mikey raises one eyebrow, his expression turning wary. "Sicilians?"

Gerard nods, lips pressed together tightly.

"Shit," Mikey says.

"You said it." Gerard reaches for the cigarette box he keeps on the coffee table, lighting one up and taking a long drag to soothe his nerves before he goes on. "He would've been happy to keep running his own game, but that's not how it works here--you do business with an established group, like the Sicilians or the Irish, or you're a no-name upstart and you get wiped out by the Sicilians or the Irish. And Frank's been okay doing business with them as far as the bootlegging goes. But now there's this talk about repeal, so they've been...shifting more of their business to other areas, is how Frank put it. Narcotics, gambling, things like that. And Frank's kind of gotten dragged along with it, because as far as they're concerned, he's one of their guys now."

Mikey walks over to sit on the other end of the sofa, turned to face Gerard. "And how does Frank feel about that?"

"Not good," Gerard says grimly. "The bootlegging's been one thing, but he doesn't want to get mixed up in the other stuff they do. He wants out."

Mikey raises his eyebrows slightly. "All I know about those sort of people is rumors and hearsay, but I've got the impression they're not really big on letting people out."

Gerard shakes his head. "No. No, they're not." As much as he wishes he didn't have to, it's a relief to be able to tell someone all this, discuss it with someone besides Frank. Gerard looks down, focusing on the cigarette in his hand as he ashes, and says in a low voice, "One night last week he showed up with blood on his clothes."

"Shit," Mikey says again. "What--?"

"He wouldn't tell me at first," Gerard says. "He was pretty shook up, that's why he came here instead of just going back to his place, but then once he'd calmed down he didn't want to talk about it, and we had a pretty big fight. Then eventually he said some guys took him along to visit someone who owed them money, and Frank had to hold the guy while someone else beat him up. He says that's the worst thing he's done so far, and I believe him. But I just keep thinking, what are they gonna make him do next time? How far is he gonna have to go to stay on these people's good side? And if he gets on their bad side..."

Mikey reaches for his hand, squeezing gently. "What if--could he go to the police?" he suggests. "Maybe give them some information in exchange for protection?"

Gerard shakes his head again. "We've had fights about that, too. He actually got approached by a detective who wants him to turn informant, but Frank doesn't think they'd be able to protect him. He says half the cops in the city are in the mob's pocket anyway, and he'd know better than I would, I guess."

"So what's he going to do?" Mikey asks. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Gerard sighs and shrugs. "I don't know. I think Frank thinks he can figure a way out of this on his own, if he just has enough time. I'd like to have faith in him, but I'm worried his time is running out. And getting him to tell me anything is like pulling teeth--he's trying to protect me, but I get so worried and I want to help him but I don't know _how_ \--"

His voice breaks, and Mikey scoots closer on the couch, raising his free hand to Gerard's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay. We'll figure something out."

"I don't want--" Gerard starts, but Mikey cuts him off.

"Don't try to tell me not to get involved in this. Frank's my oldest friend aside from you." With a shrug, he adds, "Course, I don't have any helpful ideas right now, but if I come up with any, I'll let you know."

Gerard smiles, leaning over to hug Mikey. "You do that."

A while later, they still haven't seen or heard from Frank. Gerard doesn't bother trying to hide how nervous he's getting, and Mikey doesn't try to distract him with conversation. What he does is get up, rifle through his suitcase, and come back to the sofa with a pack of cards. Gerard can't help but smile at that--they used to spend a lot of time playing card games together as kids, and it's something straightforward and mindless for Gerard to focus on.

When the knock at the door comes, it startles them both. Gerard drops his cards and stands, heartbeat speeding up a little as he crosses to the door and pulls it open. Frank's standing there, looking a little edgy but seemingly unhurt, and Gerard lets out the breath he's holding and grabs Frank by the lapel, pulling him through the door.

Frank wraps his arms around Gerard, pulling him close and rubbing his back with one hand. "I'm sorry," he says.

"What happened?" Gerard asks, the words muffled as he presses his face into Frank's shoulder. "And don't you dare be vague or tell me not to worry, not this time."

Frank hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Someone tipped the cops off about the delivery last night. We got a warning and got out in time, but everyone's on edge, and I couldn't meet up with you until I was sure I didn't have a tail."

Gerard nods, satisfied. "Okay." He draws back, glancing over at where Mikey's still sitting on the couch. "So, I guess I'm about to ask forgiveness instead of permission, because I sort of told Mikey everything. Everything I know, anyway."

Frank smiles crookedly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Wouldn't ask you to keep anything from him."

"I'm gonna help you guys figure a way out of this, if I can," Mikey says.

Frank pulls away from Gerard, walking over to the couch. "Oh, well, now that Mikey Way's on the case, we can all rest easy." There's an edge to his teasing, but his smile is warm, and he drops down next to Mikey and slings an arm around his shoulders.

Mikey shrugs placidly. "I just figure three heads are better than two. Especially if one of them's yours."

"Hey!" Frank protests, and then looks back at Gerard, still standing by the door. "And what are you doing all the way over there?"

Gerard smiles, walking over and squeezing in on Frank's other side. "I'm really glad you're okay, by the way," he mutters, leaning his head against Frank's shoulder. "In case I didn't make that clear."

Frank slips his other arm around Gerard, turning his head to kiss Gerard's hair. "I got that impression," he murmurs back.

* * *

Frank stays on guard for a while after that, being extra careful about his comings and goings (Gerard's a lot more aware now of the way Frank watches himself, the way they sometimes take longer than they need to get places and always seem to end up sitting at tables that give Frank a view of the door), but the next few days are uneventful. Gerard focuses on making Mikey's visit a good one, making up for all the visits they haven't had over the years.

He shows Mikey all around Manhattan, not just the Village, but Broadway and Central Park, the museums and the high-end stores neither of them can afford to do more than window-shop in. Of course, he takes him all around the Village, too, showing Mikey all the little spots that have become his favorites over the years.

Some nights Mikey stays in or wanders around the neighborhood on his own while Gerard's at work, but he also spends a fair amount of time at Rouge. He seems pretty comfortable there, good-naturedly curious about everything, quick to make friends with Gerard's fellow performers. Watching him chat with them, Gerard can really see how much he's grown up. He was a quiet kid, introverted and a little odd (not that Gerard has any room to talk). Now he seems a little more at home in his own skin; still not the most outgoing, but easy to engage in conversation, still odd, but with a dry, quirky sense of humor.

All too soon, Mikey has to get back to school, and they say their goodbyes at the train station.

"I can't help feeling like I'm gonna leave and then we're not gonna see each other for years again," Mikey says. "Promise me that won't happen."

"Not this time," Gerard assures him. "I promise. Come stay again as soon as you want, I'm just a train ride away." God, it feels good to say that.

"Okay." Mikey smiles, and leans in for a tight hug. "I'll talk to you soon."

They cling together for a few more moments, and then Mikey pulls back and hugs Frank, who claps him on the back and says something in his ear. Mikey steps back and picks up his suitcase, and Frank moves closer to Gerard, reaching for his hand.

Mikey gives the two of them one long last look, smiling. "Take care of each other," he tells them. "See you soon."

"Thanks," Gerard says softly to Frank as they watch Mikey walk away.

Frank glances at him sidelong, eyebrows raised. "For what?"

"For not once saying that you told me so, or pointing out that I was, in fact, a total idiot for being afraid to do this and I should have done it years ago?"

Frank shrugs. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't think I've got a lot of room to talk about should haves and being an idiot." He tilts his head to look at Gerard, expressing solemn. "Besides, the only thing I really care about here is if you and Mikey are happy. If you're happy, I'm happy, no 'I told you so's necessary."

Gerard looks at him, smiling wryly. "How exactly is it that you ever manage to pass yourself off as a tough guy?"

"Years of practice," Frank says, and takes a step back, offering Gerard his arm. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

* * *

_The day after he spends the night in a Plaza suite, Gerard takes a room at a Greenwich Village boarding house. It's tiny, drafty, and roach-infested, but it's a place of his own, the first he's ever had. He spends his eighteenth birthday alone there a few weeks later; climbs the fire escape to the roof, toasts himself with a bottle of bathtub gin the landlady sold him cheap, and smokes a cigarette while looking out at the Manhattan skyline._

_The first few months are the hardest. He knew doing this wasn't going to be easy, but knowing it and living it are very different things, and sometimes the only thing that keeps him where he is is knowing that he can't go home._

_He takes honest work when he can find it, washing dishes, sweeping floors, making deliveries for drugstores. With no connections, no credentials, and a sporadic and incomplete education, his options are limited. Some weeks he does all right. Others, not so much, and even with few expenses besides rent and food (he thinks longingly of books and records and drawing pencils, and of other things, but all that's going to have to wait until he can afford to do more than survive), he has to dip into his meager savings pretty often. Too often._

_So when he has to, he goes to the seedier parts of the neighborhood and finds an unoccupied corner, leans against a wall with his hands in his pockets and smiles at the men who walk or drive past. He learns, by getting yelled at and occasionally having things thrown at him, that certain streets and corners are spoken for, claimed as territory by other boys who don't want to share. He also finds that some of the boys are a little more friendly, willing to take a newcomer under their more experienced, if not much older, arms._

_The most important rule, they teach him, is to trust your instincts. If a would-be client gives you a bad vibe, don't go off the street with him, no matter how much he's offering. Demand payment up-front, and put it away somewhere they'd have a hard time getting it back. If you have to get away, don't look for a cop, find a crowd to lose yourself in. Gerard takes every lesson to heart, and he manages to avoid anything really bad happening. There are some close calls--a couple of times he gets his face slapped or his hair pulled, or has to knee a guy in the groin and make a run for it. The worst is the time he has to bail out of a moving car, tucking and rolling to minimize the damage. He gets scraped up pretty bad and walks with a limp for a few days afterward, but the driver pulled a knife, so. He doesn't take jobs where he'd have to get in cars anymore after that._

_But most of the men he does business with are harmless, and some of them are even nice. For the most part, they aren't bad people, just lonely, ashamed of what they want and convinced this is the only way they can have it. It doesn't take long for Gerard to get over being afraid of them and start feeling sorry for them, and that makes it easy to smile and flirt and pretend he really wants them._

_Still, he doesn't exactly plan on doing this forever. He's determined to find something better, he just doesn't know_ what _yet. But as he spends more time in the city and starts to save up enough money for more than bare necessities, he starts figuring out where to look. He starts to win his way into the city's secret underground, the hidden network of people who are like him, or who aren't but are open-minded enough not to care. A lot of his success depends on honing his ability to read people and situations, to know when someone will answer a blunt question or when he has to approach it indirectly, to convince people he can be trusted and feel his way past the_ who wants to know _s and_ what's it to you _s and the occasional_ are you a cop? _He finds it hilarious that anyone would take him for an undercover cop, but he gets the need for caution--he's heard stories of raids and busts and people getting dragged off to jail, and worse stories about what happens when they get there. If you don't end up in prison, you can end up in the nuthouse, with the doctors who say they can cure you, and some people say that's worse. One of the stories Gerard hears sticks in his mind, about a young woman whose mother found out she was living in the city with her girlfriend; she got stopped on the street and hustled into a car, and her girl hasn't seen or heard from her since._

_But in the nighttime worlds of Harlem and the Village, people still take their chances. They know what could happen, and they still risk it in order to be their true selves. And in the nightclubs and speakeasies, where bootleg liquor flows freely and someone's on the lookout for cops at all times, there's a sense of liberation, of defiance. Everyone's a misfit or a rogue, everyone's breaking some set of rules or another, and if they're going to Hell, at least they'll have plenty of company._

_In a way, though, Gerard's lonely. The Village is full of people who understand him, but none of them_ know _him. The only people who know him are hundreds of miles away._

_He writes to Mikey, when he gets a little more settled, and once he figures out a way to do it without their parents knowing the letter's from him. There was a school friend of Mikey's whose family moved to New York a few years ago; he and Mikey were dedicated pen-pals for a year, casual pen-pals for a year after that, and then dropped out of touch entirely. Now Gerard dredges up the name from his memory, does his best to disguise his handwriting on the envelope, and hopes his parents will pass the letter on to Mikey without giving it a second glance._

__Leaving you is the only thing I regret, _he writes._ I just hope you can understand why I had to, and that you can forgive me for it. __

 _A few weeks later, he gets a reply in the post office box he gave Mikey the address for._ When I'm old enough, I'm coming to New York to find you, _Mikey promises._ I don't know yet if I'll hug you then punch you, or do it the other way around. I guess we'll find out. Either way, you better take care of yourself until then. __

_In his next letter, Gerard asks about their parents even though he suspects he won't like the answer. He's right--what Mikey says doesn't surprise him, but that doesn't mean it doesn't affect him._

__They miss you, but they miss the you they approved of, _Mikey tells him._ When they talk about you, it's like you'd died in an accident. __

_It hurts, but it strengthens Gerard's resolve that he's doing what he has to._

_He also writes to Grant, which is the only thing Grant asked from him._ Even if you don't need anything, I wouldn't mind knowing how you're getting on, _he'd said before they parted ways. The letters Gerard writes to him are almost more like diary entries; he can put things there that he wouldn't tell anyone else, stuff he doesn't even tell Mikey about because he doesn't want to worry him, and he sends them off not knowing when they'll reach Grant or what he'll have to say in reply, but immensely grateful there's someone he can write to this way._

_He still doesn't know exactly what he's looking for, what he wants to do with himself, until the first time he visits Rouge. He's not expecting anything special when he walks in, just exploring the Village nightlife, the way he does whenever he has a little extra money to do it with. The bright red lettering on the sign and the jazz music spilling out draw him in, and he stands awkwardly at the back of the room, looking up at the singer onstage. She's beautiful, a tall, statuesque redhead in a white and gold gown, flirting and laughing with the patrons at the front of the room between songs._

_It takes Gerard a minute or two to realize she's a man._

_He goes back to Rouge every night that week, sitting by himself and staring up at the stage with rapt attention. When he goes home afterward, he takes out his own small collection of dresses and stockings and skirts. For weeks he's left them buried at the bottom of his suitcase, afraid to wear them even in the privacy of his rented room. Now he puts them on again for the first time since getting caught, looks at himself in the cracked, dingy mirror and thinks about the performers at Rouge. He doesn't have any ladies' shoes--high heels on creaky wood floors would have just been asking for trouble at home--but he stands on his toes and arches his feet and tries to imagine what the weight and feel of them would be like. And of course he doesn't have any dresses that are anywhere close to what the performers wear, but he imagines that, too (that first night, thinking about the redhead turns into mostly thinking about that white and gold gown, how it would feel clinging to his torso and swishing around his legs, and he ends up jerking off furiously in front of the mirror, biting his lip against a loud moan when he comes, wrung out and panting afterward)._

_At the end of the week, he goes up to the guy behind the bar and asks if he can talk to the manager about a job._

_It turns out the bartender, Steve,_ is _the manager, or at least one half of the management team. The other half is Ricky, the master of ceremonies. The two of them sit down with Gerard at a table in the back corner, eying him curiously._

_"So you want a job?" Steve asks him. "Doing what, exactly?"_

_Gerard shrugs. "Whatever needs to be done around here. Cleaning, serving drinks, helping the performers get ready--give me a task, I'll do it if I know how and learn it if I don't."_

_"Well, aren't you eager?" Ricky leans forward, giving him a speculative look. "What are you really after here, kid? I'm assuming it's not your life's ambition to be a jack-of-all-trades in a speakeasy."_

_Gerard looks at him calmly, then jerks his head toward the stage. "Actually? I want to do that. And I figure you're probably not gonna let me just walk in off the street and get up onstage. But if you let me stick around and try to convince you to give me a shot someday? I'll pretty much do whatever you want in the meantime."_

_Steve and Ricky exchange a look, and then Ricky turns back to Gerard. "Don't suppose you've got any kind of experience or training that would make us_ want _to give you a shot, as you put it?"_

_"Not unless you count school plays and wearing women's clothing alone in my room," Gerard replies steadily. "But I bet I could learn a lot watching the performers here. Which I would only do after whatever work you gave me was done, obviously."_

_"Obviously," Steve agrees, sounding amused. He looks Gerard over for a moment, then says, "Hang on a minute."_

_He and Ricky both lean back in their seats and put their heads together, holding a brief whispered conference. Gerard glances down at the table and tries not to fidget, then looks back up as they turn to face him again._

_"Okay, kid," Steve says. "Be here tomorrow afternoon by three. If you make it through tomorrow without either one of us telling you to get out and stay out, we'll talk payment. Performance roster's full right now, but if you're still here next time we have an opening--and I stress the 'if'--you can audition. How's that sound?"_

_Gerard smiles. "That sounds fine."_

__  


* * *

_Steve and Ricky don't tell him to get out the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Gerard makes good on his word, doing every job they give him, no matter how tedious or dirty. He mostly gets the dirty jobs at first, but he figures it's a test of his determination and doesn't complain._

_("I grew up on a farm," he remarks after the first time they make him clean the toilets. "Manual labor and shit don't scare me much." Steve laughs, and Ricky calls him "farm boy" for a month after that.)_

_Even when the work's not fun, it's the first steady employment he's found that's not prostitution, and it pays well enough that he can quit the latter and never look back. And the longer he works there, the better the jobs get. The best is when he gets to help backstage, arranging dresses on racks, adjusting wigs, making mad dashes to the nearest drugstore when there's a sudden shortage of pins or extra stockings. What he knows about makeup and women's clothing grows by leaps and bounds, and it makes him feel like he's finally among his own kind in a way that nothing else, not learning tricks from the other boys on the street, not seeing men in the Village be openly affectionate with each other, not even Grant's understanding and advice, has done before._

_That fall, there's an outbreak. It starts when Roxie shows up to work coughing and sneezing, but still trying gamely to get ready for her performance until Ricky sends her home. Two days later, there are two more regular performers sniffling, and the others shun them as well as they can in the cramped dressing room. But it's too late, and a few days after that Gerard arrives at work to find Ricky sitting with his head in his hands and a bottle of their stash open on the table in front of him, Steve sitting next to him and patting his back soothingly._

_Gerard clears his throat. "Uh, Steve? Is Ricky okay?"_

_Ricky looks up, a feverish light in his eyes. "_ You _."_

_"...Me?" Gerard echoes, trying to figure out if he should be nervous or not._

_It's not too hard to find a dress that fits him, a pretty emerald green one with velvet trimming. He knows a ton of songs by heart, even if he hasn't sung in front of a crowd since he was a schoolkid. Ricky has to help him do his makeup, because Gerard's hands are shaking._

_"Come on, kid," Ricky says, putting on the finishing touches. "This is what you've been waiting for."_

_"Yeah, but I always figured I was gonna have a little more time to prepare before it actually happened," Gerard protests. He keeps rubbing his hands compulsively over the silky material of the dress. Even if he goes out there and makes a total fool of himself, he figures, he's going to look good doing it._

_"Hey, you weren't prepared for this, I wasn't prepared for Typhoid Roxie. We're both just going to have to cope." Ricky attacks him with a powder brush one more time, then steps back, admiring his handiwork. "There. You're gorgeous. Get out there and make me proud."_

_Gerard stands, wobbling a little in the borrowed high heels he's wearing, and takes a deep breath. "Okay," he says. "Here goes nothing."_

__  


* * *

_By November, filling in when one of the regulars can't make a performance is a regular part of Gerard's duties. He still spends a lot of his time with a mop or a dishrag in his hand, but he's got something better to work toward, and that's all he needs to do his work cheerfully._

_Now that he's a little better off financially, he moves out of his little boarding house room and into a small apartment. He starts being able to buy things that aren't necessities but make the apartment seem like a home--a phonograph, records, books. And finally, he stops outside a store that sells women's clothing, looks longingly at the mannequins in the window, and then steps inside instead of walking by. With no one around to walk in on him and no need to hide things in the very back of his closet, he starts buying a lot more things and wearing them around his apartment more and more often._

_The first time he wears women's clothing someplace that's not his apartment or onstage at the club happens when he's been in New York almost a year. He leaves the apartment dressed normally with his rucksack slung over one shoulder, goes to a busy little cafe, drinks a cup of coffee, pays for it, and then slips into the unisex bathroom and locks the door._

_His legs are cut in a few places from his first attempt at shaving them last night, but the stockings are dark enough to mask that. The dress is white with black trim, a round collar, drop waist and pleated skirt. He has no idea what to do with his hair, so he just tucks it all under a cloche hat, does his makeup in the mirror, takes a deep breath, and unlocks the door. In the midst of the morning rush, no one seems to notice a girl walking out of the bathroom a boy walked into._

_He spends the day like that, sitting in the cafe with a book for a little while longer, going for a walk in the park, doing some shopping without having to pretend he's buying presents for someone else. It's a little terrifying--every time someone looks directly at him, he's sure they're going to know--and completely thrilling._

_He thinks about changing back before he goes to Rouge, but he feels the urge to share this with someone some way more immediate than in a letter. Steve's wiping down the bar when he walks in, and he barely glances in Gerard's direction._

_"We don't open 'til five, miss," he says, with politeness Gerard's not really accustomed to from Steve._

_"Oh, I know," Gerard says, taking off his hat as he walks up to the bar._

_Steve looks up, raising an eyebrow. "Well, look at you. I hope you've got a change of clothes in that bag, kid, that's an awful pretty dress to mop floors in."_

_Gerard drops his rucksack on the bar in front of him as he sits down. "Hey, I didn't leave my apartment dressed like this. Although I've seen my landlord in here often enough that I don't think he'd mind."_

_"You never know, some people are funny like that," Steve tells him. "It's all fine as long as it's just on a stage, and then you wear a skirt on the street and suddenly you're a weirdo. So if you're gonna make a habit of this, be careful." He stops wiping and looks up curiously. "Are you?"_

_Gerard shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I don't know. I know it's risky, but...man, it felt good walking around like this today. It always does. Honestly, I feel more like myself in a skirt than I do dressed any other way." He looks up with a wry smile. "I guess that means I_ am _a weirdo, huh?"_

_Steve returns the smile. "All the best people I know are weirdos, kid. Now go change, I've got a whole list of jobs with your name on it."_

_He does make a habit of it, and eventually it gets to be pretty clear that "habit" doesn't cover it. Like he told Steve, he feels like himself in skirts and dresses in a way he never has in a man's shirt and trousers. He'd wear women's clothing all the time if he could, and after months of dressing up periodically and never getting caught, he starts to wonder--why can't he?_

_He's twenty years old and he's been in the city almost three years when he makes up his mind to just go for it. The only people he's formed any kind of lasting connection to are the ones he knows from Rouge, he uses cash for everything and doesn't have a bank account or driver's license or anything else that leaves a paper trail, and the pay increase that comes with finally stepping up to full-time performer is enough for him to move to a bigger, nicer apartment with a landlord who's never seen him before. Overall, it's surprisingly easy for Gerard Way to disappear and Louise Rush to take his place. At first the name is just his cover, because he can't exactly walk around in a dress and call himself Gerard. But as he settles into it, he starts to feel like Louise almost has a life of her own, a life he can step into and inhabit for a while until he's alone in his apartment and it's safe to be Gerard again. It certainly seems easier to be Louise sometimes. Louise isn't some misfit weirdo who has to pretend to be someone else just to make it through the day--Louise is glamorous and confident and sharp as a tack, and, perhaps most importantly, she_ does not _give a fuck what anyone else thinks of her._

_Years go by, and the life he's made for himself here becomes as familiar and comfortable as a well-worn glove. He goes to work, he comes home, he writes letters to Mikey and Grant, he goes to the movies and goes shopping and takes long walks in Central Park and loses himself for hours in museums. It's a good life. But he doesn't connect with many people outside of work, and it's also sort of a lonely life._

_Until one Christmas Eve when a young man in a sharp suit with an oddly familiar face walks into his dressing room, and everything changes again._

__  


* * *

As soon as they round the corner, Gerard can tell something's wrong. He feels it in the way Frank goes tense next to him and the way Frank's hand on his arm tightens, and a second later Frank stops walking, tugging Gerard to a halt next to him

"What is it?" Gerard asks in a low voice.

"That car outside your building," Frank says, his voice tight. "It looks familiar."

Gerard feels his stomach drop. "What? You said no one had ever followed you here--"

"I know what I said," Frank cuts him off. "Goddamn it, I was _sure_ \--"

"Jesus _Christ_ , Frankie." Gerard clenches his free hand, nails digging into his palm through the fabric of his gloves. "What are we gonna do?"

Frank looks at him, his face sharp and wary under the brim of his hat. "Just stay close and let me do the talking." Gerard's not terribly reassured by that, and it must show in his face, because Frank goes on, "Look, I know this looks bad. I know I fucked up. I'm gonna handle it the best I can. Okay?"

Gerard swallows hard and nods. It's not like he can do much else but follow Frank's lead here. He stays close as they walk up to the building, one hand tucked into the curve of Frank's arm.

There's one guy in the driver's seat of the car, head bent over a newspaper, and another leaning against the side with one foot up on the running board, smoking a cigarette. The second guy looks up as they approach and raps his knuckles against the driver's side door, and the one in the driver's seat looks up, lowers his newspaper and rolls down the window.

"Look who finally showed up, Leo," the guy standing outside the car drawls. "Kept us waiting a while, didn't he?"

"Sure did, Vince," the driver replies, equally casual. "Not very considerate."

"Gentlemen," Frank says, matching the easy tone. "I gotta say, I wasn't expecting to run into you two here."

"Oh, I bet you weren't," Vince says. "You've put a lot of effort into keeping folks from knowing where you slip off to all the time, Frankie. Trouble with that is, it makes folks curious."

Frank shrugs. "Hey, can you blame a guy for trying to keep his business and his private life separate?"

Vince's eyes shift to Gerard, and it makes Gerard's skin crawl. "Well, I guess if my private life filled out a dress that well I'd try to keep a lid on it, too."

"But now that we're here, you could introduce us," Leo says, giving Gerard a once-over as well. Being the focus of his attention isn't pleasant, either, but he doesn't raise Gerard's hackles the way Vince does. If Vince had approached Gerard on a street corner eight years ago, Gerard would have told him to keep walking.

"Boys, this is Louise," Frank says, his pleasant tone just a little bit strained. "Louise, this is Vince and Leo, whose mothers never taught them it wasn't polite to stare, so don't take it personally."

Vince chuckles, which does absolutely nothing to make him seem less sinister. "You seem a little touchy, Frankie. I know we surprised you, but that's no reason to be unfriendly. Is it, Leo?"

"No reason at all," Leo agrees.

"You're right," Frank says smoothly. "So, is there something I can do for you boys?"

Vince shakes his head. "Not tonight. We just thought you oughta know that if you're not at home next time there _is_ something you can do for us, we'll know where to look."

Frank looks at him calmly, jaw set in a firm line. "Duly noted."

Vince flashes a cold, sharp smile. "Then I guess we're done here." He glances back at Gerard and tips his hat, a gesture that's perfectly polite accompanied by a look that lasts just a little too long for politeness. "Ma'am."

Gerard doesn't let out the breath he's holding until Vince is in the car and the car's driving away.

"Let's get inside," Frank says, and Gerard doesn't argue. His hand shakes a little as he unlocks his apartment door, even though he wasn't trembling out there--delayed reaction, he guesses.

"Are you okay?" Frank asks. Gerard doesn't reply right away, facing away from Frank as he hangs up his coat and strips off his gloves. Frank lays a hand on his shoulder. "Baby--"

Gerard pulls away from him, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. "I've been better."

"I'm sorry," Frank says softly. "Gerard, I'm so sorry. I never wanted--"

"I know," Gerard replies. "I know you wanted to keep me out of it. But now they know where I _live_ , and they could start hanging around and trying to find out other things, and if they find out too much--"

"Hey," Frank reaches for him again, taking hold of Gerard's shoulders and rubbing his arms gently. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

Gerard jerks away again, turning to face Frank. "How, exactly, are you gonna do that? And who's gonna make sure nothing happens to _you_?" He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "I can't do this, Frank. I love you, but I can't."

When he opens his eyes, Frank's staring at him, looking dumbstruck, and Gerard can't tell if it's because of the 'can't do this' part or because he just said he loved Frank for the first time at what may very well be the worst possible moment. "...What do you mean?" he asks after a moment.

Gerard sighs, reaching for Frank's hands. "I mean...I need to know there's a way out of this. I mean if you have any kind of a plan, I need to know what it is. And if you don't have a plan, if you've just been flying blind while asking me to trust you, then you need to level with me about that, and let me try to help you come up with something, because I'm involved now whether either of us likes it or not."

Frank looks at him for a long moment, then drops Gerard's hands and moves away, going to stand by the window. "I've got _a_ plan," he says eventually, looking down at the street below. "I've had it for weeks. I haven't said anything because I've been trying to come up with a different one."

Gerard walks toward him, brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because the one I have involves me getting the fuck out of the city, the state, and probably the entire East Coast, and not coming back." Frank tells him. "That's the one way I know to get away from a situation like this--just disappear. On my own, not going to the cops, there's too much risk there. But If I could get enough money together, I could get far enough away that neither the cops or the mob could find me, and start over."

The way he's talking about it, it's clearly something he's put a lot of thought into. Gerard comes up next to him, hands clenched at his sides, not touching Frank. "The reason you've been holding off and trying to come up with a different plan," he says quietly. "Tell me it isn't me."

Frank looks up at him, the headlights of a passing car sliding across his face. "It's not _just_ you," he says. He glances back out the window, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "I mean, you know I love this goddamn city. It hasn't turned its back on me yet, I don't want to turn my back on it." Looking back at Gerard, he gives a little shrug. "But I'd be lying if I said you didn't have something to do with it."

Gerard looks at him, not knowing what to say. "Frankie--"

Frank turns away, pacing a little, running a hand through his hair. "Besides, what happened tonight kind of throws a wrench in that--now that they know where you live, if I disappeared they'd probably come looking for me here. I couldn't put you in that position."

"So we're back to square one?" Gerard asks.

"Looks like. Unless..." he stops pacing and faces Gerard, drawing in a deep breath before he finishes, "Unless you'd want to come with me."

That brings Gerard up short. "Come with you?" he echoes.

"It's the one way I can figure that my leaving wouldn't mean trouble for you," Frank says, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck, looking almost bashful. "And there's the whole thing where I'm kind of crazy about you, so, y'know, it would make _me_ happy. How about you?"

Gerard swallows hard, glances out the window as he searches for words. "My whole life is here," he says after a few seconds. "My whole life except Mikey, and he's in Boston."

"I know," Frank replies. "That's why I haven't brought it up before." He walks back toward Gerard and tucks a hand under his chin, turning Gerard's face towards his. His expression is open and honest, eyes full of emotion, and for the first time in weeks Gerard feels certain Frank's not trying to hide anything. Including how scared he is. "I don't want to lose you, I don't want to ask you to leave everything you've got here, and I don't want to be responsible for anything bad happening to you. So I've been trying to figure out a solution in the face of all that, but I'm stumped. I don't know what to do."

Gerard raises both hands to cup Frank's face, looking into his eyes, and then leans in, pressing his lips to Frank's. Frank's hands go to his waist and pull him closer, and they kiss until they're both breathless.

Gerard pulls back and rests his cheek against Frank's, his mouth close to Frank's ear. "I love you," he whispers, wanting to say it properly.

Frank slides a hand around the small of Gerard's back, kissing his cheek and the line of his jaw. "I love you, too," he replies.

"And I don't want to lose you, either," Gerard goes on. "And I don't--Frank, I don't know what to do, either, but--" He pulls back enough to look at Frank, hands curving around to stroke Frank's hair and cup the back of his neck. "We'll figure it out together, okay? Somehow."

Frank nods and then pulls Gerard close, holding him tight. "Somehow," he echoes, pressing a kiss to Gerard's hair.

Gerard turns his head, seeking Frank's mouth, and they both give up on words for the time being.

They stumble into the bedroom, kissing frantically and tugging impatiently at each other's clothing. Gerard's down to his chemise and Frank's down to his undershirt and shorts when Gerard runs out of patience and just pushes Frank down on the bed, climbing up after him and straddling his lap. He frames Frank's face with his hands and bends down to kiss him, and Frank runs his hands restlessly over Gerard's body, like he wants to touch him everywhere at once and can't make up his mind.

Gerard's fingers slide downward, trailing over Frank's neck and collarbones, his chest, down to his stomach, and then finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. He kisses Frank's mouth once more, and then follows the path his hands just traced with his mouth, sliding down on the bed. He pushes Frank's undershirt up to kiss his stomach, nipping gently at the skin there, and Frank sucks in a breath, twining his fingers in Gerard's hair.

"For the record," Gerard murmurs, skimming his mouth along the trail of hair leading down from Frank's belly button, "You're a stubborn idiot and you should have talked to me about this sooner."

"You've had your own problems to deal with," Frank protests, skimming a finger along the line of Gerard's cheekbone. "I didn't want to--"

Gerard makes a frustrated noise, raising his head to glare even as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Frank's shorts. "'My own problems' include being worried sick about _you_."

Frank looks at him solemnly, propped up on one elbow, and strokes Gerard's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Right. I'm sorry. And I love you."

"I love you, too," Gerard replies. Even in the midst of everything going on, saying that and hearing it gives him a little thrill of pure happiness every time.

He lowers his head again, nosing along the curve of Frank's hipbone as he pulls Frank's shorts down. Frank's hand slips into his hair again, combing through it gently.

Gerard takes him deep right away, curling a hand around Frank's cock and sliding his mouth down to meet it. Frank makes a rough sound, hips rocking up a little, and Gerard opens his mouth wider, encouraging him with a moan. He doesn't need Frank to hold back or be careful, not now.

Frank takes his cues from Gerard, thrusting up into his mouth and tightening his grip on Gerard's hair. Gerard lets his eyes flutter closed, swallowing around Frank and listening to the sounds he's making, breathless, half-formed curses and endearments. It doesn't take long before he bites back a shout and comes hard. Gerard swallows steadily, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he pulls off.

"Jesus," Frank pants, stroking Gerard's hair back and then cupping the back of his neck. "C'mere."

Gerard moves back up on the bed, leaning over and bracing his hands on either side of Frank's head. Frank kisses him deeply, cupping Gerard's face in both hands, and then rolls them over on the bed. He settles half on top of Gerard, one knee sliding up between Gerard's thighs, and Gerard grinds against him, too impatient to even pull back and strip off his panties. Frank's mouth trails down the side of Gerard's neck, his hands roaming all over Gerard's body again. Gerard gasps, running his hands through Frank's hair and cupping the back of his head to keep him pressed close. He's wound up way too tight to make it last, so he doesn't try, rocking against Frank's leg a few more times and then moaning sharply as he comes.

They lie together, pressed close and breathing heavily. After a minute or two, they stir just enough to peel off the rest of their clothing and get under the covers. Frank presses his face into the curve of Gerard's neck and murmurs it one more time before he falls asleep-- _love you_ \--and Gerard slings an arm across Frank's waist as he kisses his forehead and whispers it back.

* * *

Early the next morning, Gerard leaves Frank asleep in his bed, puts his kimono on, and goes out to the armchair by the window. It's one of his favorite spots to sit and think, and he's got a lot to think about.

It's taken him years to build a good life for himself here. It took all the courage and resolve he had to run away to New York in the first place, driven by desperation and the hope that if there was any place in the world for someone like him to go, this was it.

The idea of leaving everything he has here behind, running away and starting over again a second time, is hardly appealing. But now it seems like he could be in danger of losing everything anyway. The thought of Vince and Leo lurking outside his apartment and Frank's warning that they might go after Gerard if he disappeared makes Gerard shudder. And even if there was no threat to him, if it was just a question of Frank leaving...in just a few months, he's become one of the best, most important parts of Gerard's life.

But one of the _other_ most important parts of his life is Mikey, and the thought of leaving the East Coast when they just saw each other again after eight years makes Gerard's heart sink.

He stares out the window, lost in thought, until he hears a low noise and turns his head. Frank's standing in the living room doorway in his shorts, rubbing the back of his neck and blinking tiredly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, smiling. "Just thinking." He reaches out a hand. "Come here."

Frank crosses the room and settles on the floor in front of Gerard's armchair. The position and the pale dawn light on his upturned face make him look young, vulnerable. Sometimes Gerard almost forgets that there are five years between them, and that for all the thing's he's done and the tough front he likes to put up, Frank's little more than a kid.

Gerard reaches out and brushes Frank's hair out of his eyes, smooths it back behind his ear. "So. This whole leaving the East Coast idea...do you have any particular destination in mind?"

"Not really," Frank says. "The further the better, preferably a big city instead of a small town, but other than that I'm not picky."

Gerard doesn't say anything for a few moments, combing his fingers through Frank's hair while Frank looks up at him patiently. "Would someplace in California be far enough?"

Frank's eyebrows go up a bit. "Well...to be honest, if I made a list of places I'd like to live, California wouldn't be at the top. But under the circumstances, the opposite end of the country has a certain allure." He shifts a little closer, laying a hand on Gerard's bare knee. "Gee, is this a lead-in to you saying that if I went to California you'd go with me?"

"Since I came here, I've never really thought about living anywhere else," Gerard tells him. "I mean, I found a place where I can be myself, live the way I want, why would I ever leave?"

Frank leans over and presses a kiss to Gerard's knee. "If I could think of any other way..."

Gerard strokes his hair. "I know. But I've been thinking. New York's been good to me--to us--but it's not the only place we could be happy. I've talked to a lot of people who had good things to say about California, and as you already mentioned, it's across the country. I figured I'd put it on the table."

Frank shrugs. "Like I said, I'm not gonna be picky. If you think you'd be happy in California, I say let's give it a shot." Frank rests his chin on Gerard's leg, looking up at him. "But, uh...do you want to tell Mikey we might be moving to the West Coast, or should I?"

Gerard sighs. "Yeah, there's that. I can't commit to this until I talk to him."

"Right," Frank agrees instantly. "And there's other stuff we'd have to take care of before we could go, we need a little time."

"Will we be okay in the meantime, though?" Gerard asks. "I'd really rather not get another visit from Vince and Leo."

Frank tilts his head, rubbing his cheek against Gerard's skin. "As far as they know, they've got me by the balls. It's in our best interest for them to keep thinking that. If I make nice and do what I'm told, I'm pretty sure they'll stay away from you."

Gerard sighs, curling his hand around the back of Frank's neck. "So they can use me to make you do what they want."

"Just for a little while," Frank assures him. "We'll get through it."

Gerard smiles faintly. "If you say so."

* * *

Mikey doesn't question Gerard's telegram asking him to come as soon as he can (the only explanation Gerard gives is that there's something they should discuss face-to-face), just wires back that he can be in New York by noon the upcoming Friday.

"So, what's going on?" he asks once he's sitting at Gerard's kitchen table.

Gerard sets coffee down in front of Frank and Mikey, retrieves his own from the counter and sits down. "How much would you hate me if Frank and I moved to California?" he asks.

Mikey blinks. "Is this a hypothetical question, or...?"

Gerard tells him about the other night and their tentative plan to leave New York. Frank lets him take the lead, interjecting a comment of his own here and there, and Mikey listens patiently.

"So California seems like it might be a good plan, except for the part where it's really, really far away from Boston," Gerard finishes.

Mikey shrugs. "I'm taking my final exams at the end of May," he says calmly. "There's nothing that says I have to stay in Boston after that, as long as I have a way to find you in California."

Gerard just looks at him, a smile starting across his face. Mikey's reaction isn't that surprising, but it's touching enough to leave Gerard speechless.

"You mean that?" Frank asks, grinning.

"I've told Gerard before, the one thing I know for sure about my future is I want him in it," Mikey says. "A business degree's as good in California as anywhere else, and I'd rather move to Antarctica than see you two stay here if it's not safe anymore."

Gerard reaches for his hand, squeezing gently. "That makes me feel _so_ much better about this."

"What are you gonna do out there?" Mikey asks.

Gerard shrugs. "Me? Probably the same thing I'm doing here. I haven't told anyone at work yet, but I know Ricky knows people in West Hollywood. Once he's done giving me grief about leaving, I can probably get a good reference out of him." He glances sidelong at Frank, putting a hand on his knee under the table. " _You'll_ have to get some kind of legitimate job, I guess."

"Hey, I thought our agreement was if I ever quit bootlegging I'd be your manservant," Frank replies.

Gerard smiles. "Well, we did make that agreement when you hadn't ever seen me before my first cup in the morning. I wasn't sure you'd still be up for it."

"Still beats my current job," Frank points out, and then glances at his watch. "Speaking of which, I hate to run when Mikey just got here, but I'm supposed to be on my best behavior, so..."

Gerard's smile fades as Frank stands. "Am I gonna see you later?" he asks.

"If I can," Frank says, and reaches out to tilt Gerard's chin up. "Rather not make any promises than make 'em and then not show up."

"I get it," Gerard says, and turns his face up for a kiss as Frank leans down. "Be safe."

* * *

A little while later, he and Mikey are getting ready to go out to dinner when there's a knock on the door. Gerard's not expecting anyone, so he opens the door a little warily, keeping the chain on, and relaxes when he sees it's Carl, the handyman.

"Hey, Carl, is something wrong? Please don't tell me my tub's been leaking into 2C again."

"Nothing like that, Miss Rush," Carl says. "I just thought you should know, there was a guy here a little while ago asking about you."

Gerard's stomach drops instantly. "What?"

"He said he was a police officer," Carl said. "Didn't ask too much, just described you and that young man who's here with you sometimes, and asked if you live here. I figured it couldn't hurt to tell him that much, but I also figured it couldn't hurt to give you a head's-up."

Gerard bites his lip. "I appreciate it. Was there anything else he wanted to know?"

"No--well, not about you," Carl says. "He asked if there was a good place around here to get a cup of coffee, so I sent him to the Nite Owl."

Gerard nods. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know, Carl."

Carl hesitates, looking like he wants to say something else but isn't sure if he should. "'Course, it's not really any of my business," he says after a moment, "But I'd hate to think you were in any kind of trouble."

Gerard smiles. "Don't worry about me, I'll be all right," he says, and it's partly a way of telling Carl that he's right, it's not his business, but also a way of saying he appreciates the concern. "Thanks, Carl. Really."

Carl nods. "No problem. You take care, Ms. Rush."

Gerard keeps a pleasant smile on his face until the door closes, then drops it as he turns to face Mikey. "We've got a problem."

Sure enough, when they get down to the Nite Owl, one of the booths next to the plate-glass window is occupied by a tall guy in a neat, nondescript suit with slicked-back hair, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper.

"Wait for me out here, okay?" Gerard asks Mikey.

"If it looks like you're in trouble, I'm coming in," Mikey replies, and Gerard shoots him a quick, grateful smile before stepping inside.

Toro looks up when the door opens, and when he sees Gerard he folds his newspaper and puts it aside. Gerard's very careful not to let anything show in his face or his body language. He walks across the room and slides into the other side of Detective Toro's booth like he knows him, like they'd made plans to meet here, and smiles pleasantly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks in a quiet, friendly tone.

Toro takes a casual sip of his coffee, responding in kind. "I've had a tail on Vince and Leo for a while now," he informs Gerard. "When they spent so long parked outside your building the other night, I got a little curious. Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks, I can't stay long. If you've got a tail on those two, why are you lurking on _my_ block?" Gerard asks, still smiling. "Go ruin _their_ Friday evening."

"I have a feeling it would ruin a lot of Friday evenings for you if Frank ended up in jail," Toro points out. "Or worse, which is a distinct possibility."

Gerard's careful smile slips, so he ducks his head, adjusting his gloves a little. "Why are you talking to me about this? I do my best to stay out of all that, I don't need mob goons _and_ you making it harder for me."

"You were there last time I talked to Frank," Toro points out. "And you probably know better than me how stubborn he is. I was hoping you might be a little more--"

"--easily intimidated?" Gerard finishes for him.

"I was gonna go with 'open to persuasion'," Toro says.

"As I understand it, that's the polite way of referring to intimidation," Gerard says smoothly, glancing up to meet Toro's eyes. "So you shake me up, and then I run to my boyfriend and tell him he has to cooperate, is that it? You don't know me at all, Detective."

Toro looks at him calmly, then gives an acquiescing nod. "Maybe not. But I know quite a bit about Frank. For one thing, I know he only started going by Frank Genarro about a year and a half ago, and before then he was Frank Iero. I know Frank Iero has a rap sheet full of misdemeanors--petty theft, breaking windows with rocks, that sort of thing--but nothing serious until he got into bootlegging, and nothing that involved violence against another person until the night of his arrest, and I've got witness statements saying that was provoked."

A waitress heads in their direction with a pot of coffee, and Toro stops talking to give her a friendly smile as she refills his cup. Gerard gives a polite 'no thank you' when she asks if he wants anything, and as the waitress moves away, Toro looks back at Gerard.

"Now, Frank Genarro's never been charged with anything, so for him I've just got a lot of circumstantial evidence and speculation. But the pattern's similar--a year of involvement in bootlegging but no violent crimes, and then in the last six months I've got him connected to extortion, vandalism, several assaults, and at least one instance of arson."

Gerard swallows hard, looking down and to the side. He thinks about all the times Frank's showed up late or not at all, all the times he hasn't wanted to say where he's been or what he was doing, all the times he's gotten dismissive or downright angry when Gerard tried to get him to talk about it.

"You know what that pattern says to me?" Toro goes on. "It says he's not a bad guy--not a saint, sure, but I've been doing this long enough to know who's a lowlife who gets off on hurting people and who's a basically decent person mixed up in some bad stuff. It seems pretty clear to me that Frank's the latter. And those are the kind of people I like to help, if I can."

"Frank doesn't think you can help us," Gerard whispers, staring determinedly at the tabletop.

"And he could be right," Toro concedes. "I wasn't born yesterday, I know there are dirty cops out there. But some of us still care about justice. The longer Frank stays mixed up with these people, the deeper he'll dig himself, and the more danger you'll both be in. I can't give you a full guarantee, that's true, but if Frank helps me out I'll do everything in my power to return the favor, and that's got to be better than no guarantee at all."

Gerard glances back up at him, and Toro looks sincere. It's like a scene in a movie, the honest, friendly cop offering help to the damsel in distress. Only Gerard knows at least one half that equation is a lie, and suspects Toro wouldn't be so friendly and helpful if he also knew it.

"I have to go," he says, standing. "I shouldn't be talking to you."

Toro grabs for his wrist. "Wait--"

Gerard jerks away, more forcefully than he means to. "Please, Detective."

Toro backs off, looking contrite. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Just..." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little white card with a phone number written on it, holding it out. "In case you change your mind. Just think it over. Please."

Gerard doesn't reply, doesn't look at his face again, but he does take the card before hurrying out of the diner.

* * *

Gerard's hesitant to tell Frank about Toro the next day, knowing he'll react badly, but he needs to know. Frank actually takes it pretty well, which means he only stomps around Gerard's living room swearing for a few minutes.

"So what do we do?" Gerard asks once Frank calms down a little.

"You mean aside from have the entire mob and the NYPD over for cocktails, since they seem determined to invite themselves over anyway?" Frank asks, and shrugs helplessly. "If Toro keeps sticking his nose in he could cause us trouble--if anyone finds out he's approached me, it won't matter that I haven't told him anything. I don't know how to get him to back off, though. I'd need some kind of leverage."

"Is there information you could give him that would be useful?" Mikey asks.

Frank nods. "Well, yeah--not enough to take down anyone really important, but with what I could tell him, he could bust some of their operations, probably put some low-level guys away for a stretch. But if I tell him anything and it gets back to me, I'm fucked."

"What if he agreed not to act on anything you gave him until you left town?" Mikey suggests. "Look, if he was being honest with Gerard, he thinks of you as a decent guy, he wants to help you out, and he appreciates the situation you're in. If you make some kind of deal with him, tell him you want to get out and go straight and offer the information in exchange for him not messing with that...do you think he'd go for it?"

Frank looks at him speculatively for a moment, then shakes his head. "Maybe. It could be that Toro's just a real good actor, but my gut says he actually is the good cop he claims to be. I think he'd go along with that. But I'd still have to talk to him again to work the deal out."

"I could talk to him," Mikey says.

Gerard looks over at him. "What?"

"Nobody knows me," Mikey says. "I wasn't here when they paid you a visit, and as far as we know they haven't been back here, right?"

"As far as we know," Frank says. "That's still chancy."

Mikey shrugs. "There's still a better chance of me being able to talk to Toro without anyone linking it back to you than there is if you or Gerard do it. I can set up a meeting with him and try to negotiate."

Gerard shakes his head. "Mikey, I don't want you to--"

"Gee, I want to do this," Mikey says firmly. "Let me help you."

Gerard looks uncertainly at Frank, who shrugs. "It might be worth a shot."

Gerard sighs, spreading his hands. "I still don't like it, but I guess I'm outvoted."

The plan they work out is for Mikey to call Toro from a phone booth, arrange to meet somewhere that's not near Gerard's apartment, and offer him the deal. Gerard realizes it's going to take some time--if Toro's not at his desk when Mikey calls, Mikey's going to have to wait and try again, then they need to figure out where to meet and then there's the meeting itself--but every hour Mikey's gone, his nerves ratchet up another notch.

Gerard's getting ready to leave for work when the phone rings; he rushes into the hall and snatches the receiver off the hook. "Hello?"

"Hey." It's Mikey, sounding pretty calm. "It's done."

Gerard relaxes a little. "How'd it go?"

"Okay, but let's not talk over the phone," Mikey says. "I'm closer to Rouge than your place, should I just meet you there?"

"All right," Gerard says. "Be careful getting there. I'll see you soon."

* * *

The back corner tables at Rouge are good for talking. They're far enough away from the band to have a conversation, but the room's still loud enough to make eavesdropping difficult, and when there's a performer onstage, anyone in the back can be pretty sure _no one_ in the room is paying attention to them.

Gerard can think of worse places to discuss the tentative deal his brother made with the police to snitch on his boyfriend's mob contacts.

"That seemed to go pretty well," Mikey says as soon as he sits down. "I guess I haven't spent four years in business school without learning how to negotiate."

"Did Toro go for it?" Frank asks.

"He says your information better be good if he's gonna stick his neck out," Mikey says. "But he's on board with the idea. I told him I'd contact him again in a few days to arrange how and when he gets it."

Frank nods approvingly, clapping Mikey on the shoulder. "All right. To be honest, I didn't expect it to work out nearly that well."

Mikey shrugs. "He's got a crush on Gerard. I think that helps."

"Excuse me?" Gerard asks, at the same time Frank asks, "He what?"

Mikey has the good grace to look abashed as he goes on. "I may have harped a little on how it's not just Frank who'll be in trouble if the deal goes bad, and how he has to let Frank go because otherwise who's gonna look after Louise, and, well, you get the picture. Oh, by the way, Gee, as far as he knows I'm your cousin. Anyway, when I put it like that he came around pretty quick. Trust me, I don't think he's gonna do anything he thinks might put you in danger."

Gerard sighs, shaking his head. "I don't _believe_ you. But, okay, if that makes this work he can crush on me all he wants."

"As long as that's all he does," Frank mutters ominously.

"Well, that's one of our problems hopefully solved," Gerard says. "What's next? If we're actually going to pull this off, what do we need to do?"

Frank takes a sip of his drink and then swirls the liquid around in the glass, looking down at it. "As far as Toro goes, I guess the best thing is if I write down everything I have that he could use, and arrange a drop-off--leave it taped under a certain park bench at a certain time, something like that. As far as getting out of town goes, there's basically three things we need--money, fake IDs, and a car. I can take care of the last two easily enough, but money's a problem. Oddly enough, my cut from everything I'm involved in seems to be getting smaller lately."

"I've got a couple hundred, but that's all my savings," Gerard says. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table, and adds, "I might have a way to get more, though."

"Yeah?" Frank prompts, eyebrows raised.

"When I ran away from home," Gerard goes on. "I got help from a guy named Grant--Mikey, I told you about him in my letters, remember?" Mikey nods. "He was this wealthy European guy traveling in the States, and there's a fair chance I might have died in a ditch somewhere if he hadn't helped me out."

"Well, if I ever meet him, I'll buy him a drink for that," Frank says. "But what's that got to do with us now?"

"We've kept in touch over the years," Gerard says. "And next week he's actually going to be in New York for the first time since then, so we were planning to get together and catch up." He glances at Frank, meeting his curious eyes. "And he's always told me that if I ever need his help, I should ask for it."

Frank's eyebrows go up slightly. "And you think he'd be willing to help us with this?"

Gerard looks down, tracing a pattern in the wood tabletop with his fingertip. There's a lot of history here that Frank doesn't know, and Gerard's not unwilling to tell him, he's just not sure where to start.

"I think so," he says softly. "Or at least, I don't think he'd be bothered by my asking."

"Sounds like it's worth a shot," Mikey says.

"Yeah," Frank agrees, and leans over to kiss Gerard's cheek. "Good thinking, baby."

That's the last word on the subject until later that night, when they're back at the apartment. Gerard expects Frank to see them home and then go back to his place--he hasn't been staying over much lately--but as Mikey starts making up the couch, Frank trails Gerard down the hall to the bedroom.

Gerard glances over his shoulder, smiling curiously. "Hey. You know my walls are pretty thin, right?"

Frank shakes his head. "Now who's just in it for the sex?" He moves in close behind Gerard, sliding an arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder. "I feel like lately we're always either looking over our shoulders or busy making plans. So we're gonna shut the door and get in bed and not do either of those things for awhile, and aside from that, I don't really care what we do."

Gerard reaches back to cup Frank's cheek, holding him where he is. "You're such a romantic."

Frank helps him with his dress, and Gerard sits down at the vanity to take off his shoes and stockings. In the mirror, he can see Frank slipping out of his jacket and unbuttoning his vest and shirt. They don't spend a lot of nights like this, quiet and domestic instead of passionate. Gerard could get used to it. He hopes he has time to get used to it, he thinks as he picks up his hairbrush.

"So, if you don't want to talk about this, we don't have to," Frank says, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. "But I can't help but wonder--"

"If the wealthy European man I knew before we reconnected and am planning to ask for money is an old boyfriend?" Gerard finishes for him. He figured Frank was going to have some questions about that.

Frank looks up at him, smiling crookedly. "Just curious. I like to know a little something about people that I--or my boyfriend--might be accepting money from."

"I get it," Gerard finishes brushing his hair out, then stands and walks over to the bed. He folds back the covers and sits, leaning against the headboard and tucking his legs under himself. "Grant's not exactly what I'd call an old boyfriend," he says after a moment's thought. "Although, in the interest of full disclosure, he was the first guy I ever slept with."

Frank pauses in the middle of taking off his pants. "When you ran away? You were _seventeen_!"

Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Did you, or did you not, tell me you lost your virginity at sixteen in the back of a car?"

"Yeah, to someone who was also sixteen, not to a wealthy European man while I was a teenage runaway in danger of dying in a ditch," Frank protests. His righteous indignation on Gerard's past self's behalf is sort of annoying and endearing at the same time. Frank in a nutshell. He finishes undressing and sits on the edge of the bed facing Gerard, brow furrowed. "I mean...did he take advantage of you? Was there advantage-taking?"

Gerard sighs and rolls his eyes. "If you must know, he was a perfect gentleman right up to the point where _I_ propositioned _him_. There was no advantage-taking. I got a ride into the city, a place to sleep, and some of the best advice anyone's ever given me, and Grant got my virginity. Frankly, I think I got the better end of the deal."

"Okay," Frank says, but he doesn't seem totally convinced. Gerard sighs again and holds out his hands, and Frank scoots up on the bed until he can take hold of them.

"Look, baby," Gerard starts. "We've never talked very much about everything that happened to me before we met again, and that's fine by me because there's some things I'd just as soon you never know about. I did some stuff that...I'm not gonna say I regret it, because it was what I had to do to survive, but I don't exactly want to sit around reminiscing about it."

Frank squeezes his hands. "You don't have to."

"What happened between Grant and me isn't one of those things," Gerard goes on. "He was good for me. And...kind of important." He ducks his head, smiling a little. "We only spent one night together, but it was...I don't even know how to put it in words, but it was what I needed then. You know, he was the first person to ever tell me I was beautiful?"

He glances up, and there's an odd look on Frank's face for a moment. Then Frank smiles and nods. "Okay," he says again.

Gerard's brow furrows slightly. "Is that an 'okay' okay or a 'I still have a problem but I don't want to talk about it anymore' okay?"

Frank shuffles around on the bed until he's leaning against the headboard next to Gerard, and tucks an arm around him. "Actually? It's an 'I always figured I probably wasn't your first love, the way you were mine, but now the guy who was is showing up again and I'm not gonna make a thing out of it but I may need a little time to get used to the idea' okay."

Gerard smiles, leaning over and tucking his head against Frank's shoulder. "I've never thought about it in those terms before, but yeah, I guess he was." He presses a kiss to Frank's shoulder and adds, "But for the record, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Grant's been a good long-distance friend over the years, but friends is all we are now."

Frank kisses his hair. "And for the record, he wasn't the first person to _think_ you were beautiful. He just beat me to saying it out loud. And had a definite advantage in not being twelve."

Gerard laughs. "He had that going for him, yeah." He tilts his head up, reaching to pull Frank down for a lingering kiss. "I love you," he whispers when they break apart. "Grant's my past. You're my present, and you better stick around to be my future."

"That's the plan," Frank replies, and kisses him again.

The kiss lasts for a long moment, until Gerard pulls back and rests his head on Frank's chest. Frank strokes his hair with one hand, his other arm curled around Gerard's waist, holding him close.

"Tell me more about him?" Frank asks softly. "I mean, you don't have to. But if what happened was that important to you, I'd like to hear about it, if you'd like to share it."

Gerard doesn't answer right away, lying quietly in Frank's arms. "He picked me up on the road not too far from home," he begins eventually. "I'd been walking a couple of hours by then, and I didn't know if I should trust him. But I was so tired, and there was just something about him that felt all right to me..."

* * *

_Gerard takes one last drag on his cigarette, looking out over Fifth Avenue. Grant said he didn't mind Gerard smoking in the room, but after talking for over an hour he felt like he could use a little time to himself, so he went out to the balcony._

_It's taken two cigarettes for him to work up his nerve out here, but he thinks he's got it. Now he needs to go through with this before he loses it. He crushes the cigarette out on the railing, takes a deep breath, and goes back inside._

_Grant's still sitting on the sofa, writing in a notebook. He looks up when Gerard comes in, smiling._

_"There you are. Everything all right?"_

_"Yeah," Gerard says, leaning against the wall by the balcony door. "I've been thinking about something."_

_Grant raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"_

_"I think we should sleep together before you leave," Gerard tells him._

_Grant blinks. "I'm sorry?"_

_It's not quite the response Gerard was hoping for, but at least he has Grant's attention. He leans against the wall, arms tucked behind his back, doing his best to slouch artfully. He tries to remember what he's seen in the movies, only it's usually girls doing the whole wide-eyed coquette thing in the movies, and they tend to have better natural assets than he does. "I think we should sleep together," he repeats._

_Grant stares at him for a moment, then stands, closing his notebook and walking over to put it back in his travel bag before he looks back at Gerard. "I thought we settled that."_

_Gerard pushes off from the wall and walks toward Grant, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Maybe we did and maybe we didn't. You did say you thought I was handsome."_

_Grant watches him as he approaches, and there's something in his dark eyes that raises the hairs on the back of Gerard's neck and makes him sure he's not wrong about this._

_"I also said I don't expect anything of you, and I meant it," he says evenly. "If I've said or done anything to make you doubt my sincerity, I apologize."_

_"You haven't," Gerard assures him, moving closer. "You've been a perfect gentleman, and I know that if I didn't say anything you'd go on being a perfect gentleman. But maybe I don't want you to be."_

_"You're just a boy," Grant says, which isn't exactly a refusal._

_Gerard keeps moving forward until he's right in Grant's space, looking up at him. "You asked how you can help me," he says softly. "_ I _meant it when I said I'll do what I have to do to make it here, and if that means selling myself, fine. I'm not too scared or too proud for it. But I thought maybe...if I could make sure my first time is good--and I think it would be good, with you--then if it's bad later, that won't matter so much. You know?"_

_Grant just stares at him, his expression hard to read, and after a moment Gerard drops his eyes, pulling in on himself a little. "Is that stupid? It's stupid, isn't it. I'll--"_

_He starts to turn away, only to find Grant's hand on his face, cupping his cheek. "No," Grant says softly. "No, it's not stupid at all."_

_He leans down and kisses Gerard's forehead, and Gerard lets out a little sigh and then tilts his head up, hoping Grant won't pull back--and he doesn't. Their mouths meet, and Gerard closes his eyes, leaning into it._

_It's the first time he's ever kissed a man, and the second time he's kissed anyone at all. The first was a year and a half ago, when Katie Bowen let him kiss her and touch her breasts through her blouse in the back row of a dark movie theater. It had been nice--she was soft and round in all the right ways and she smelled good--but it had mostly been an experiment, to see how he'd like it. And that had been his answer: it was nice. Just nice._

_This is much more than nice, partly because Grant seems to know a lot more about kissing than Katie Bowen did. He tilts his head a little, changing the angle of the kiss, and traces Gerard's bottom lip with his tongue, and Gerard opens his mouth automatically, letting him in. He feels warm all over, too warm for the room, and he's got butterflies in his stomach and goosebumps on his arms and he finally, for the first time ever, gets why people make such a big deal over kissing._

_Grant's framing his face with both hands now, stroking over Gerard's cheekbones with his thumbs, and Gerard reaches up and puts his hands on Grant's shoulders, pushing gently. When they stumble back a few steps, Grant's legs hit the sofa and he sinks back onto it. Gerard climbs up after him, his knees on either side of Grant's, and kisses him again as Grant's arms go around his waist. He lets one hand trail down Grant's chest to his stomach, and then--thinking about what he does when he touches himself, what he knows feels good--reaches between his legs._

_Grant's hard already, and he draws in a sharp breath and surges up against Gerard's hand. Gerard feels a little thrill and a sudden, heady sense of power--he's doing this, he can make Grant react that way, make him want more._

_"Is that good?" he whispers, putting his mouth against the shell of Grant's ear. "Is that--"_

_"It's perfect," Grant tells him, low and rough. "You're perfect."_

_He slides a hand into Gerard's hair, tugging his head to the side, and kisses Gerard's neck, scraping his teeth over the skin gently. Gerard gasps, swaying against him, and moves his hand, cupping Grant through his pants._

_"You can do anything you want to me," he says breathlessly. "Anything--just show me, tell me what to do--"_

_Grant makes a noise that's almost a growl and gathers Gerard against him, standing with a little effort. Gerard squeaks in surprise and holds on, wrapping his arms around Grant's neck and his legs around Grant's waist. Four steps across the room and Grant's setting him down on the bed, disengaging himself and reaching for the buttons on Gerard's shirt. Gerard lies there, half-dazed by how fast this is happening, only moving when he has to lift up in order to let Grant take something off. Once Gerard's naked, Grant stands back and strips his own clothes off even more quickly, and Gerard props himself up on his elbows and watches him with eager, hungry eyes._

_Grant gets onto the bed, straddling him, and Gerard stretches up to meet him for another kiss, twining his arms around Grant's neck._

_"What do you--what should I--" He keeps talking in half-formed sentences, not sure what he's trying to ask, what he wants. His mind is whirling with everything he's ever heard about sex, a lot of which he only half understands, and all he knows for sure is that he wants to do it right, wants it to be good._

_Grant stops him with a kiss, stroking Gerard's hair back from his face. "Stop thinking so much," he says when he pulls back. "Just do what feels right."_

_He settles on top of Gerard, bracing his elbows on the bed and pressing down with his hips, and their cocks slide against each other, smooth and hard and with just enough friction. Gerard tosses his head back with a strangled cry, caught off-guard by how good it feels._

_"We're built for this," Grant's saying in his ear, moving against him. "The human body's designed for pleasure. It knows what to do even when your mind doesn't." He puts a hand on Gerard's hip, steering him into a steady, fast rhythm. "All you need to do is trust it, and learn to read the signals."_

_Gerard lets Grant guide him, rocking up to meet his thrusts. Grant's mouth trails down the side of his neck, and Gerard tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed. He's dizzy and breathless, overwhelmed. He tries to listen to Grant and stop thinking so much, but he's wound up like a bowstring and he can't stop trying to memorize every detail of the experience--the firm weight of Grant above him, the way Grant's teeth on his neck send tremors up and down his spine, the hard, smooth heat of Grant's cock sliding against his._

_It's over before Gerard's ready, everything building up inside of him in a hot rush. He arches up against Grant, clutching at his shoulders, and comes with a loud, sharp moan, shuddering. Grant keeps going a little longer, rocking against him, and lets out a muffled groan against Gerard's shoulder when he comes. He stays braced above Gerard a few moments, then eases down on the bed beside him, one arm slung across Gerard's chest._

_Gerard stares up at the ceiling, wrung out and panting for breath. He never put much stock in schoolyard talk about how having sex changes you, but he does feel different, and vaguely triumphant._

_Grant stirs, touching Gerard's cheek and studying his face. "All right?" he asks gently._

_"I'm fine," Gerard says, smiling. He rolls onto his side, leaning over to kiss Grant. "I'm better than fine."_

_Gerard's hair falls in his face and Grant tucks it back behind his ear, kissing his temple. "I'm glad."_

_Gerard stretches lazily and then settles back down on the bed, rubbing his cheek against the cool, smooth sheets. He feels better than he has in a long time, all the tension drained out of his body. "I'm just glad I was right about you wanting me. It would have been pretty embarrassing if you'd turned me down after I threw myself at you like that."_

_Grant looks almost amused. "Did you think there was any chance of that?" he asks._

_Gerard shrugs, tracing invisible patterns in the sheets with one hand. "I don't know, it's not like I've ever done this before."_

_Grant takes hold of Gerard's hand and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips over Gerard's knuckles. "I wanted you from the moment you got into my car," he says. "Your age was the only reason I hesitated at all."_

_Gerard feels himself blush, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Honestly?"_

_Grant looks at him for a moment, then sits up and motions for Gerard to do the same. "Come here," he says softly._

_There's a big, gilt-edged mirror on the wall across from the bed, and Grant turns Gerard toward it, hands on his shoulders. "Look," he whispers, tucking a hand under Gerard's chin to tilt his face up. "Look how beautiful you are."_

_"Do you really think so?" Gerard asks breathlessly. He does think he looks pretty right now--lips parted, cheeks flushed, leaning back against Grant's chest--but he doesn't think it would be hard for anyone to look pretty in a moment like this. It's like when he wears stockings or puts makeup on; it's the window dressing that's beautiful, not him. Not really._

_"I think you're incredible," Grant tells him. "I think people should be kneeling at your feet and bringing you offerings. I mean it," he says when Gerard gives a nervous laugh. "And I want you to remember this, because the world is full of small-minded people who are going to try to make you feel ugly, try to hurt you and drag you down into the mud with them. And when that happens, I want you to remember that you're beautiful, and special, and you deserve every good thing life has to offer." He pauses, meeting Gerard's eyes in the mirror. "All right?"_

_Gerard draws in a deep breath that hitches on a sob and twists around, burying his face in the curve of Grant's neck. His shoulders are shaking and tears are welling up in his eyes, and it's not just because of what Grant just said. It's everything. He hasn't let himself cry since the fight with his dad, so he guesses it's overdue._

_Grant's arms wrap around him tightly, Grant's lips press against the crown of his head. Gerard tries to pull himself together, to stammer out an apology for losing it like this, but Grant just shushes him gently._

_"Just let it out," he murmurs against Gerard's hair. "It'll be all right. Let it out."_

_Gerard cries himself out against Grant's shoulder, letting Grant ease him back down on the bed. Grant keeps murmuring to him, his voice low and soothing, and Gerard curls up in his arms and closes his eyes, drawing in deep, shuddery breaths._

_He dozes off like that for a while, and wakes up still tucked against Grant's chest, no idea how long he's been out. Grant's awake, one hand carding absentmindedly through Gerard's hair, and when Gerard stirs he cranes his neck to look at him._

_"Hey," Grant says softly, and rubs his thumb over Gerard's cheek, wiping away the last traces of his tears. "Feeling better?"_

_"Yeah," Gerard says, lifting himself up on one elbow and scrubbing a hand across his face. "Yeah, a lot. How long was I asleep?"_

_"Just about an hour," Grant tells him. "If you want to go back to sleep, I can turn the lights out."_

_"No, it's okay," Gerard says. "I'm not really that tired." That's a lie and Grant can probably tell, but he doesn't want to sleep. If he goes to sleep, tonight ends and tomorrow comes, and tomorrow means a steamer back to Europe for Grant and who-knows-what for Gerard._

_He leans in and kisses Grant, open-mouthed and eager, falling back on the bed when Grant leans over him. Grant deepens the kiss, sliding one hand down from Gerard's neck to his chest, circling his nipples lightly, teasingly. Gerard's hard almost at once, pushing up into the touch insistently._

_"I want you," he gasps when the kiss breaks. "I want--"_

_"What?" Grant coaxes gently, his fingers skimming down Gerard's ribcage. "Tell me."_

_Gerard squirms when Grant brushes a ticklish spot, whimpers into Grant's mouth when they kiss again. "I don't know, just...you. Your hands--your mouth--show me something," he finally says, as close to decisive as he can get. "Something I don't know how to do yet. Something good."_

_Grant sits up and looks down at him for a moment, thinking. Then he nods, with a faint smile. "All right."_

_He leans down, kissing Gerard lightly. Before Gerard can deepen it, Grant's mouth is gone, following the line of his throat down to his collarbone, and further._

_Gerard closes his eyes, sighing in pleasure as Grant kisses a path down to his stomach, and then his eyes fly open and he arches off the bed with a startled cry when he feels Grant's mouth on his cock. Grant rides the motion out, sliding his hands around to the back of Gerard's thighs to lift him off the bed even more, take him deeper, and Gerard moans brokenly as Grant swallows around him and does..._ something _with his tongue._

 _Gerard writhes on the bed, clenching fistfuls of the sheets, and Grant doesn't let up for a second, and it's too fast and too hot and too much and fucking_ perfect. _Gerard's teetering on the edge in what feels like a minute flat; he doesn't know if it's okay to come in Grant's mouth or not, but when he pushes feebly at his shoulder Grant only pulls off halfway, and when Gerard shudders and breaks apart he swallows steadily, only pulling back to wipe his mouth when Gerard goes still._

_Gerard lies there panting, feeling like every muscle in his body's been turned to jelly. It's all he can do to raise his hands to Grant's face when Grant moves back up the bed to kiss him. His mouth is salty and a little bitter, and a few little aftershocks run through Gerard as he realizes he's tasting himself there._

_"Can I do that to you?" is the first thing he asks when he can speak again. Grant's half-hard against his thigh, and Gerard doesn't think he'll need much coaxing._

_Grant draws back, bracing himself on one elbow and stroking Gerard's hair back from his forehead. "You don't have to," he says gently._

_"I want to try it," Gerard tells him eagerly, putting his hand on Grant's chest and leaning up to mouth at his jaw. "I want to try everything."_

_Grant laughs softly, threading his hand into Gerard's hair. "We'd need a lot more than one night for everything. Or at least, I would--I can vaguely remember being seventeen, but I haven't got quite that much stamina anymore."_

_"Okay, maybe not_ everything, _" Gerard concedes. He doesn't even know what 'everything' is, after all, although the thought of staying holed up in this room for days on end while Grant teaches him makes his cock twitch, less than five minutes after coming his brains out. He kisses Grant's neck, nips at his throat lightly, letting his hand trail downward. "But this? Can I?"_

_One of Grant's hands curls around the back of Gerard's neck, the other splayed on his hip. "You don't honestly think I could say no to you right now, do you?"_

_Gerard moves down on the bed, smiling and tucking his hair behind his ear. He settles between Grant's legs, hands bracketing his hips. Grant's cock is right in front of him now, big and hard and flushed dark with blood, and Gerard's suddenly unsure of what to do. The basic idea is pretty straightforward, but he wonders for a moment what the best way to go about it is, and then realizes Grant's probably not expecting too much finesse from him on his first try._

_He leans forward and takes the head of Grant's cock in his mouth, tracing the shape of it with his tongue. Grant lets out a little moan and his hips twitch upward, and Gerard feels that same little thrill of power he felt earlier. He slides down further, opening his mouth wider, and feels Grant's hand on his face, tracing the curve of his cheek and then sliding into his hair._

_"You don't have to take too much," Grant tells him softly. "Use your hand." And of course, once he's said that it seems perfectly obvious for Gerard to curl his hand around the base of Grant's cock, covering what his mouth can't. "That's it," Grant says encouragingly, petting his hair._

_Once Gerard's past the first hurdle, so to speak, it seems easier to figure things out, to remember to only breathe through his nose and use his tongue more, trying to mimic some of the things Grant did to him. Grant holds still for the most part, just his hips twitching now and then and his hands sliding carefully through Gerard's hair as he whispers encouragement._

_Grant's breath starts coming fast and uneven, and he tugs on Gerard's hair gently. Gerard pulls off, momentarily confused, wondering if he's done something wrong, but when Grant gasps out "Just--your hand--", he slides his fist up and down the length of Grant's cock, fast and messy and slick with spit. When Grant comes, arching his back and crying out, a little of it splashes on Gerard's lower lip and chin, and without even thinking about it he wipes his face and then licks his hand clean._

_Grant sits up, tugging at Gerard's shoulder to pull him up as well, and kisses him deeply, cupping his face in both hands and licking into his mouth. Gerard curls his hands around Grant's wrists, leaning into the kiss. His lips feel raw and his jaw aches a little, but it's not too bad, and satisfying, in a way._

_"Was that all right?" he asks after a moment, drawing back._

_Grant kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his brow. "Much better than that," he says softly. "You're a quick study."_

_They sink back down on the bed together, kissing lazily, Gerard tucked into the curve of Grant's arm. After a few minutes, Grant reaches down to tug the covers up around them, and then settles down again, pulling Gerard back against him. Gerard rests his head on Grant's shoulder, feeling Grant's fingers slip through his hair gently, and lets his eyes fall closed._

* * *

  
_Grant's hand on Gerard's shoulder wakes him. He starts at the sensation of being in an unfamiliar place before he remembers the night before, and then he relaxes, smiling into the pillow for a moment before he rolls over and sits up._

_There's full daylight streaming through the windows, and Grant is fully dressed, folding up his clothes from last night and putting them in his suitcase._

_"I would have let you sleep longer," he tells Gerard. "But if you want breakfast, it would probably be best if you're not still in bed when it gets here."_

_"...Right." Gerard pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, finds his own suitcase. "I'll go get dressed."_

_Grant stops him as he passes, one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching to tilt Gerard's chin up. "All right?" he asks softly. "Last night--"_

_"Last night was perfect," Gerard says sincerely, and stretches up on his toes to kiss Grant. "Thank you."_

_Getting dressed in the bathroom, he notices the marks on his neck and collarbone. He reaches up to touch one of them, gasping a little at the jolt of pleasure-pain when he presses down. He couldn't see, with Grant already dressed, if he left any marks on him or not. He sort of hopes he did._

_There's a room service cart in the room when he comes back out, and Grant's finished packing, his suitcase standing by the door. Gerard gathers his clothes from last night and shoves them in his own suitcase carelessly. "When do you have to check out?" he asks._

_"An hour," Grant says, and beckons Gerard toward the sofa. "Come and sit down, have something to eat."_

_They eat sitting side-by-side on the sofa, not talking much. Gerard keeps wanting to say something, to talk while he still can before he's off on his own without Grant's understanding, but he doesn't know what to say._

_After a while, Grant turns to face him. "I know I keep saying this, but I want to be clear--you don't owe me anything, and I don't expect anything from you."_

_"I know," Gerard says. Grant made that pretty clear the day before, but it seems like he's leading into something else, not just restating it._

_"What if I asked you to come with me?" Grant asks. "To come back to Scotland with me? Would you?"_

_Gerard stares at him, taken up short by the offer. It takes him a few moments to find an answer, and when he does, he surprises himself._

_"No. Or, well, I might--I know I'd be tempted--but I think if I did I'd end up regretting it."_

_Grant looks a little disappointed, but he nods steadily. "All right."_

_Gerard reaches for his hand, wanting to explain even though Grant didn't ask him to. "I don't want you to think--Grant, it means_ so _much to me that you'd even offer. And you've been so good to me, and last night was amazing, but I'm seventeen, and I'm just figuring everything out, and if I just latch on like that to the first person I've ever been with, it's just...it'd be too much."_

_Grant lifts his free hand and tucks Gerard's hair behind his ear. "We wouldn't have to be anything other than friends. It could be as much or as little as you want."_

_"I don't_ know _what I want, though, that's the thing," Gerard tells him. "Even if you never asked me for anything, I think I'd be too afraid to disappoint you by not giving you what you want, even if it's not right for me. And even if we could just be friends, I feel like--and I might end up really, really regretting this--but I feel like I need to make my way on my own. Even if it's just to find out whether or not I can."_

_Grant smiles faintly, cupping Gerard's face, rubbing his thumb along Gerard's cheekbone. "I understand. Even though I'd like very much to take care of you."_

_"I'm sorry," Gerard says. "It really does mean a lot--"_

_"And I really did mean it when I said it's all right," Grant tells him. He pulls Gerard close, curling a hand around the back of his neck and kissing his forehead._

_Gerard leans against him, pressing his face into Grant's shoulder and sliding his arms around Grant's waist. "I am going to miss you, though."_

_"Nonsense," Grant murmurs into his hair. "In no time at all, you'll have some handsome young New Yorker wrapped around your little finger and you won't think of me at all."_

_Gerard smiles against his shoulder. "Yes I will," he says, raising his head. "I'll never forget you."_

_They stay that way for a while, Grant stroking Gerard's hair, Gerard leaning against him, basking in the feeling of being held._

_Later, when they're getting ready to leave, Grant takes Gerard's hand and presses a handful of bills into it._

_"Take it," he says when Gerard opens his mouth to protest. "Trust me, making your own way is far easier when you have help getting started."_

_Gerard nods, not trusting himself to speak. He's too afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll lose all his nerve and beg to stay with Grant._

_Grant turns toward the small desk, scribbles something on the hotel stationary there, and turns back to Gerard. "And this is my address in Scotland. I travel a lot, so a letter may take time to reach me, but when it does I'll answer. If I can ever do anything more for you, let me know." Smiling, he adds, "And even if you don't need anything, I wouldn't mind knowing how you're getting on."_

_Gerard looks up at him for a moment, and then throws himself forward, hugging Grant tightly. "Of all the people who could have passed me on the road and offered me a ride, how'd I get lucky enough to have it be you?" he murmurs into Grant's shirt._

_"We were both lucky," Grant says, tilting Gerard's chin up. Gerard closes his eyes as Grant kisses him, slow and sweet and lingering._

* * *

Gerard can't resist dressing up a little to go meet Grant at the docks. Grant knows about Louise from the letters they've exchanged over the years, but he's never actually seen Gerard in drag, and given that the last time they were together Gerard was an awkward seventeen-year-old, he finds himself wanting to make an impact. 

He guesses he succeeded in that, because as he stands at the dock in a new navy silk dress, his favorite black heels, and a hat with a totally pointless but adorable little veil, he gets several appreciative glances and a whistle or two from passing sailors. He ignores them placidly, standing with his arms folded while he waits for the steamer Grant said he would arrive on to start letting passengers disembark. 

When Gerard finally spots Grant making his way down the gangplank, he looks pretty much the same from a distance--tall, shaved head, sharp suit. When he gets a little closer, Gerard can see lines around his eyes and mouth that weren't there before, but Grant even wears those well, and he looks handsome and dignified. He's walking slowly, scanning the crowd, and then his eyes land on Gerard and Gerard smiles at him. Grant comes closer, recognition blooming across his face. 

"My god," he says softly, and there's a note of pride in his voice that makes Gerard's smile widen into a grin. "Look at you." 

"Hello, Grant," Gerard says, and takes a step forward, holding out his arms. 

Grant drops his suitcase and sweeps Gerard into a hug. In all honesty, Gerard had wondered if this would be awkward. Not in the way Frank might have worried about--Gerard loves him and he's not going to let anything mess with that--but the last time he and Grant touched they were lovers, and now they're not, and that could be weird. 

It _is_ weird, he realizes as Grant's arms go around him, but it also feels really, really good. He slips his arms around Grant's waist and buries his face in the rich material of Grant's jacket, and it feels a little like coming home. 

"It's good to see you," he murmurs into Grant's jacket.

"And you," Grant replies, and draws back to look at him again. "You look lovely."

Gerard smiles. "Thank you."

Grant picks up his suitcase again, offers Gerard his other arm, and they start walking.

"So, if you'd rather just stay in and enjoy not being on a boat tonight, I completely understand," Gerard tells him. "But if you want, you can have dinner with me and Frank, and then come with me to Rouge."

"Of course I want to see you perform," Grant says. "And I'd very much like to meet your young man. And your brother, if he's in town."

Gerard shakes his head. "Mikey's back in Boston, he has an exam he can't miss this week. He's going to come down again when he can, hopefully before you leave, I'd like it if you two could meet."

They take a cab to Gerard's apartment, so Grant can leave his suitcase there and Gerard can give him a quick tour, and then head to meet Frank. He's waiting at a table when they get to the restaurant, and stands as they approach, extending a hand to Grant.

"Unless Gerard decided to ditch his friend at the docks and pick up a random stranger for dinner, I'm guessing you're Grant," Frank says as they shake hands.

"Who's Grant?" Grant asks, with a perfectly innocent expression, and Frank seems thrown for a second and then laughs.

"I like this guy already," Frank says to Gerard as he pulls Gerard's chair out, and Gerard smiles broadly.

"Good."

Gerard doesn't want to spring stories about the mafia and requests for money on Grant when he just arrived, and Frank's letting him lead on this, so they stay away from that topic during dinner. Instead, Grant tells them about where he's been traveling lately, Gerard tells Grant about his reunion with Mikey--he'd given him the basics in his last letter, sent in the brief window between when Grant had gotten back to Scotland and when he left again for New York, but he doesn't mind telling it again in person--Frank tells bad jokes, and Gerard watches Frank and Grant interact. There's a certain standoffishness, a sense of them taking each other's measure, but he's delighted to see that they seem to be getting along. They're both charmers when they want to be, and by the end of the meal they're talking like old friends.

The standoffishness resurfaces a little when the check comes, and Frank and Grant both reach for it.

"Let me get this," Grant offers, but Frank shakes his head.

"No, man, you're the one visiting," he insists gently. "Our treat."

Grant nods acquiescently, withdrawing his hand. "Very well, but if we do this again, the next one's mine."

"Fair enough," Frank agrees. He pays up, then glances at his watch. "And I hate to say it, but I've got to get going, I have a...business thing."

Gerard lays one hand on top of his. "Come to my place later, if you can?" he asks, and then adds significantly, "We can talk about things."

"Sure," Frank says, and smiles. "I might be a little late, but I'll be there." He lifts Gerard's hand to his lips and kisses it, then stands and extends his hand to Grant again. "Nice to meet you, Grant."

"Be careful," Gerard can't resist adding as he watches Frank go. When he looks back at Grant, Grant's eying him shrewdly.

"And what is it that we're going to talk about, later?" he asks softly.

Gerard ducks his head, biting his lower lip. "I'd rather not talk about it right now, and I didn't want to just start asking you for things as soon as you got here," he says, and then looks up to meet Grant's eyes. "But we might need a favor."

Grant nods solemnly. "Tell me what you need, and I'll see what I can do."

Gerard smiles gratefully. "Thank you. But right now, we'd better get going, too."

* * *

As Gerard expected, walking into the backstage area of Rouge on the arm of a tall, handsome Scotsman causes a bit of a stir. Gerard makes the introductions, then leaves Grant to fend for himself as he changes and does his makup. Grant seems to fend rather well, gracefully fielding questions about kilts and what is or isn't worn under them and looking tolerantly amused as the girls exclaim over his accent.

Grant watches Gerard's performance from the wings that night, and when Gerard heads off, he's there, smiling fondly.

"You look good out there," he says.

Gerard grins. "Thanks. Let me just get my things and we can go back to my place, assuming the girls'll let you out of here in one piece."

"Mm, some of them do have a bit of a Maenad look about them," Grant says. "You distract them and I'll slip out the back."

Frank's not at the apartment when they get there. Gerard tells himself there's no reason to worry yet.

"You want coffee?" he asks Grant.

"If you're going to make some anyway," Grant says.

Gerard smiles, heading toward the kitchen. "Grant, at any given time, if I don't have a pot of coffee made already? I'm going to make some."

When Gerard goes back out to the living room with a mug in each hand, Grant's standing by the bookshelves, looking through Gerard's books and records and knicknacks.

"You've made a good life for yourself here," he says to Gerard. "It's good to see."

Gerard smiles wryly. "It's good to have."

They sit side-by-side on Gerard's shabby but comfortable sofa, sipping their coffee and waiting. Frank said he'd be late, but it's already after midnight, and Gerard's automatically nervous when he knows Frank's doing business these days.

Eventually, Grant reaches out, brushing the backs of his fingers against Gerard's hand where it's wrapped tightly around his mug, and says softly, "Do you want to keep waiting for Frank to arrive before we talk, or do you want to tell me what has you so tense?"

Gerard sighs, letting his shoulders slump. In some ways this feels like a repeat of when he told Mikey everything a few weeks ago, only it's simultaneously better and worse. Worse because he has even more reason to be worried for Frank now, better because unlike a few weeks ago when he had no idea what to do, now there might be a way out.

He shifts on the sofa, turning to face Grant with his back resting against the arm. "Okay, so...to start with, how much do you know about organized crime in America?" Grant's eyebrows go up, and Gerard nods. "Yeah. _That's_ what has me so tense."

He tells Grant everything; Frank's history as a bootlegger, his deepening involvement with the Sicilians, their plan to make a run for California. Grant listens attentively, no sign of judgment in his expression.

"I take it that's the favor you mentioned earlier?" Grant asks when Gerard gets to the part about how they need money.

Gerard hesitates, then nods. "I wouldn't want you to think--I mean, I hate to just ask you for money the first time we see each other again, like that's the only reason--"

Grant shakes his head. "Stop that. I only wish I could do more to help than just give you money, you seem so terribly afraid for Frank."

Gerard closes his eyes and draws in a shaky breath. With his emotions running so high already, Grant's kindness is overwhelming. That feels familiar, too.

"I am," he says in a half-whisper. "You know what's really terrible? The worst part isn't even being afraid he'll get hurt--don't get me wrong, that part's pretty bad. But the worst is being afraid they'll make him do something awful, something he can't come back from."

He feels Grant move closer on the sofa, feels a hand on his shoulder and goes with no resistance, pressing his face against Grant's shoulder as Grant tucks an arm around him.

"He has someone who loves him very much," Grant says softly. "That's the sort of thing that helps you keep hold of yourself, no matter what situation you end up in. As long as he has you to hold onto, I think you'll be surprised at how well he bears up. But in the interest of his not having to bear up too long, I suppose cash would suit you better than a check?" Gerard nods against his shoulder. "I'll have to wire my bank in Scotland for a transfer tomorrow, then."

"Thank you," Gerard murmurs, and then raises his head. "I don't even know how to--you've always been so good to me, and I'm so grateful for it, but I don't understand. I've never really understood it."

Grant draws back a little, studying his face. "You've always reminded me somewhat of myself. We're alike in many ways, you and I, and I don't just mean our sexual preferences. It's always seemed to me that the main difference between us is that I was more fortunate as a young man. Calling my parents liberal would be an understatement--they were always very supportive, very understanding."

"That sounds nice," Gerard says, thinking about his own parents. It's an old wound, but it still aches a little.

"It was," Grant says with a fond smile. "But the older I got and the more I saw of the world, the more I started to realize that not everyone's so fortunate. Whatever guides us through the universe, whether it's gods or karma or just blind luck, I was dealt a good hand in a world where many others aren't, and I like to pass some of that good on, when I can. You're not the first person I've helped out of a bad situation, and I doubt you'll be the last." He touches Gerard's face gently, tracing the line of his jaw. "But between the two of us, you're among the dearest."

Gerard smiles and leans forward, tilting his head to kiss Grant on the cheek. "I've been fortunate, too," he says softly. "Even if I've had my share of bad situations, I've also got you and Mikey and Frank in my life, and that's worth a lot. And maybe someday I'll be able to help someone the way you've helped me. I'd like that."

He draws back, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, and stands to take their mugs to the kitchen. "It's getting pretty late," he says. "Don't let me keep you if you need to go."

"Actually," Grant says. "Feel free to throw me out if I've outstayed my welcome, but if you'd like, I could wait with you until Frank gets here."

Gerard pauses in the hall entrance, looking back at Grant with a smile. "That would be nice."

When he gets back out to the living room, Grant's standing by the bookshelf again, looking through Gerard's records. He puts Gershwin on the phonograph and goes back to the sofa, and Gerard joins him there, toeing off his shoes and drawing his legs up on the cushion. He leans his head against Grant's shoulder again and Grant shifts a little to accommodate him, and it's comfortable and easy.

"So," Grant says after a moment. "California?"

"That's the plan," Gerard says, glancing up at him. "Have you ever been there?" Grant nods, and Gerard smiles. "What am I saying, of course you have."

They talk about that for a little while, but as it gets later the conversation peters off. Gerard doesn't mean to fall asleep, but when the door opens he startles awake, no idea what time it is. Frank's standing in the doorway with a faintly quizzical look, brow furrowed, and Gerard's...curled up against Grant with sleep-rumpled clothing and his head on Grant's shoulder.

"Hey, man," Frank says to Grant. Gerard doesn't particularly care for the careful evenness in his tone, but he can imagine he wouldn't be thrilled to come home and find Frank so cozy with someone else, especially if it was someone he knew was a former lover. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"I was just keeping Gerard company," Grant says smoothly. "But I suppose I should be getting along now."

He shifts, and Gerard straightens to let him up. Grant finds his hat and suitcase, drapes his jacket over one arm, and then looks back at Gerard. "I'm at the Plaza," he says. "Come by or call anytime, you can leave word at the desk if I'm not there."

"All right," Gerard says, smiling at him. "Goodnight, Grant."

Grant turns to Frank, extending a hand, and Frank shakes it. "See you around," Frank says, and the tone of his voice is casual but the set of his shoulders says otherwise.

The silence after Grant leaves shouldn't feel awkward--Gerard _hates_ that it feels awkward--but it does. Gerard stands, picking up his shoes and letting them dangle from one hand.

"I didn't know you'd be this late," he says, and he's not sure if he's making excuses for his own behavior or reproaching Frank for his. "I was worried."

Frank holds his arms out at his sides. "I'm fine," he says. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner, though."

"It's okay," Gerard says. He walks over and puts his hands on Frank's shoulder, leaning in for a kiss. Frank kisses back easily enough, but there's still tension in his shoulders Gerard doesn't like. "Let's just go to bed, I'm beat."

"Fine by me," Frank says, and kisses Gerard once more, briefly, before moving past him and down the hall, shrugging out of his jacket.

Gerard drops his shoes by the hall closet and follows, but pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Frank's not saying much, not asking any questions, but words bubble up inside Gerard as though he had. "Grant just wanted to wait with me, until you got in."

Frank glances over his shoulder, unknotting his tie with brisk, quick movements. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks flatly.

Gerard shrugs uncertainly, but Frank just keeps looking at him, and after a moment Gerard blurts out, "It means nothing _happened_ , Frank."

Frank's hands go still, and he turns to face Gerard fully, his expression perfectly calm. "Did I ask if anything happened, Gee?"

Gerard folds his arms defensively, not dropping his gaze. "You're acting like you want to," he says quietly.

Frank looks at him a moment longer, then drops his eyes to the side. "Shit," he mutters, and then walks over, raising one hand to Gerard's face. "Baby, it's not...I trust you, okay? I'll _always_ trust you." Gerard tips his cheek against Frank's hand, and Frank goes on softly. "But I was being an ass just now, and I'm sorry. I guess I'm just used to being the only guy you lean on like that."

It's sweet and sincere, and Gerard feels bad about what he says next, but not enough to not say it. "I can't lean on you if you're not here."

Frank sighs, then leans in to kiss Gerard quickly. "I know."

Gerard leans into Frank, raising his hands and sliding them into Frank's hair. They stay like that for a few seconds, and the silence isn't awkward anymore, but it's still heavy.

"And now I feel bad bringing it up, because I was a jerk to him," Frank says at length. "But...?"

Gerard smiles faintly. "Grant and I talked about it, he said it's fine, he'll help us." He lifts his head, meeting Frank's eyes. "We'll work the details out tomorrow, all right? All of us together."

"All right," Frank says. "Good. Thank you for asking him." He kisses Gerard again, and he doesn't have to say anything else for Gerard to know how relieved he is. Gerard leans into the kiss eagerly, opening his mouth under Frank's, and steers them back toward the bed.

* * *

They stay in bed late the next day, kissing and touching lazily, but with a kind of quiet desperation behind it, like if they pretend the world outside Gerard's bedroom doesn't exist it'll leave them alone for a while. When they finally emerge, Gerard calls the Plaza, and it doesn't take much for Grant to talk him (and, by extension, Gerard to talk Frank) into dinner at the Palm Court, his treat.

Eight years later, walking into the Plaza is still an impressive experience. Gerard doesn't get up to the expensive part of Fifth Avenue very often, and it's hard not to feel out of place here. But he knows they both clean up well--Frank in one of his nicer suits, Gerard in lavender and pearls that aren't real but look like it--and when he spots Grant waiting for them at a discreet corner table with a warm smile, the rest of the room could be empty.

Grant stands as they approach, and as he and Frank shake hands, Frank squares his shoulders and speaks up.

"I've never been very good at apologies, but I'd like to think I can admit it when I've done something worth apologizing for," he says. "I'm sorry about last night. I've been under a lot of stress lately, but my mother raised me better than to take my stress out on other people."

"Apology accepted," Grant tells him solemnly. "Considering everything Gerard told me about last night, I'd say stress is putting it mildly."

They leave the topic there briefly while the waiter takes their order, but once he's out of earshot, Grant reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a brown envelope.

"I wasn't sure just how much you'd need, so I thought I'd err on the side of caution," he says, sliding the envelope across to Gerard.

Gerard picks it up and looks inside, and his eyes widen. "Grant, this is...this is too much. We can't--"

"Yes, you can," Grant says firmly. "Getting to California is one thing, you'll need something to help you land on your feet once you're there."

Frank's looking at Gerard curiously, and Gerard slides the envelope across to him. Frank looks, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Shit. What the hell are we gonna do with this much?"

Grant shrugs. "Buy a cabaret in San Fransisco, buy a ranch in the country, take Hollywood by storm--whatever you want to do with it."

Frank's brow furrows, something obviously not sitting right with him. "Look, I don't want to be rude again, or seem ungrateful." He gestures to the envelope and says, bluntly, "But that's a _lot_ of money to just hand someone with no strings attached. Even when it's someone you know as well as Gerard, and _especially_ when it's someone you know as little as me."

"Frankie--" Gerard starts, wanting to intervene. He doesn't know if he can explain to Frank what Grant made clear to him last night, but he can try. Grant stops him, though, with a gently upraised hand, and leans forward a little, meeting Frank's eyes calmly.

"I understand your reservations," he says. "But if I were going to place any conditions on this, I would tell you. If you don't know me well enough to take my word for that, please believe Gerard does." He gives a slight shrug. "It's money, Frank. Little pieces of paper that only have value because governments tell us they do and we agree to take their word for it. And I've reached a point in my life where it doesn't have much value to me unless I do something worthwhile with it."

"And you think a handout to us is worthwhile?" Frank asks, still uncertain.

"Two brilliant young people, very much in love, who need help to start a new life together?" Grant looks between the two of them and nods. "Yes, Frank, I think that's very worthwhile."

Frank looks down, the line of his shoulders relaxing a little. "I--jeez, I _am_ being rude again, sorry." He looks up, meeting Grant's eyes. "No one's ever done anything like this for me. I don't know how to--" he shakes his head. "Thank you, Grant. Just...thank you."

Gerard reaches out, touching Grant's hand with his own where it rests on the table. "That goes for me, too," he says softly. "I'm still not sure we deserve this, but I'm awfully glad you think we do."

Grant covers Gerard's hand with both of his, smiling. "Remember what I told you eight years ago," he says. "You deserve every good thing life has to offer. If I can be the one to bring good into your life, it's my pleasure."

Gerard looks down, blinking rapidly. "Damn it, Grant, the last time you made me cry I wasn't wearing mascara."

Frank and Grant both pull out their pocket handkerchiefs at the same time, which makes Gerard laugh, a few tears spilling over. He takes Frank's, dabs at his eyes, and then leans over to put his arms around Grant's neck, hugging him tightly. Grant's arms go around his waist, and Gerard kisses his cheek.

"I could spend the rest of my life saying this and it wouldn't be enough," he whispers. "But thank you."

* * *

After that, it finally feels like their plan is really in motion, like they're gaining momentum and only some kind of collision could stop them now. Frank procures the fake papers they'll need to build new identities for themselves in California, which get stashed under a loose floorboard in Gerard's apartment along with the money from Grant. Gerard gives his notice at Rouge, which hurts to do, but Ricky gives him a list of people to look up for work in Los Angeles and Steve gives him a bottle of champagne and strict instructions to save it for when he and Frank christen wherever they end up living.

Frank makes the promised information drop-off, a sheaf of papers full of names and places and code phrases sealed in an envelope and stuck to the underside of a park bench. He's tense and tight-lipped afterward, and he warns Gerard they might have to run on short notice if it seems like anything went wrong, but days later nothing's happened and Frank seems a little more ready to believe Toro's a man of his word.

Gerard starts packing, whittling his possessions down to what will fit in the back of a car, the things he can't bear to leave or would have a hard time replacing. Frank brings over a few things to stow at Gerard's in preparation. His pile is pretty small: a single suitcase, a milk crate crammed full with books and records, and his guitar. Gerard has a much harder time deciding what to take and what to leave behind.

"I swear I don't remember buying this many shoes," he says, while Frank's is helping him go through his closet one night. "I think they multiply in the closet when I'm not looking."

"What are you gonna do with the ones you don't take?" Frank asks, holding up one rhinestone-covered shoe and eying it dubiously.

Gerard shrugs. "Bring them all to work, I guess. Either someone'll take them or Ricky can keep them around as spares." He finds the mate to the shoe Frank's holding and takes them both, looking down at them for a moment. "That's one thing I'm gonna have to find in California," he says, a little wistfully.

"What, a shoe store?"

Gerard holds up the shoes, smiling wryly. "A shoe store that consistently stocks women's shoes in big sizes. Have I ever told you how jealous I am of your feet? You've got tiny fucking feet, motherfucker."

Frank snorts. "Thanks, I guess." He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, and then glances back at Gerard, his expression serious. "Look, I really appreciate how game you're being about all this. I know it's not easy."

Gerard shrugs, putting the shoes in the 'keep if possible' pile. "It's not that bad."

"You don't have to pretend," Frank says. "I feel bad enough already about the fact that I'm making you do this."

Gerard sits down on the bed, looking over at him. They've been dancing around that, but it's been pretty clear to Gerard that Frank's wrestling with it. "Frankie," he says softly. "I'm not going to pretend I wish it wasn't happening this way. But if it wasn't--if you weren't in trouble, if we didn't _have_ to leave, and you asked me to go to California with you anyway, do you know what I'd say?"

"Aside from asking if I hit my head because that's the only way I'd want to move to California if I didn't have to?" Frank says, with a hint of lingering sullenness.

Gerard smiles. "Aside from that. And aside from suggesting we wait until after Mikey graduates so he could come with us right away." Gerard shrugs. "I'd do it, Frankie. I may wish I'd had a little more time to think it over before I made the decision, but even if I had, it would've been the same."

Frank looks at him, not convinced. "But you love it here."

"I love you more," Gerard tells him. "I lived in this city for years without you, and I thought I had everything I needed. Now I know I wouldn't want to go back to that."

Frank smiles crookedly, self-deprecating. "Yeah, who'd want to live without some asshole dragging you into trouble with the mob?"

"I'm serious." Gerard says, reaching for him. "You think I'd still be with you if I didn't think you were worth it? Come here."

He tugs gently at Frank's arm until Frank comes to sit on the edge of the bed, and Gerard moves behind him, slipping his arms around Frank's waist and resting his chin on Frank's shoulder.

"For a while before you showed up, I was starting to think I'd never find a guy who really got me," Gerard tells him. "Even here. I used to bring home guys I met at Rouge, and I'd think if anyone was gonna be able to understand who I am, it'd be one of them. And then every time, I ended up feeling like I couldn't really be myself around them, like I was still performing all the time. Like they wanted Louise, but didn't really want to get to know Gerard."

Frank puts a hand on Gerard's arm, leaning his head sideways against Gerard's. "Their loss."

Gerard smiles softly, dropping a gentle kiss on Frank's shoulder. "See, that's exactly what I mean. You know who I am and you've always accepted it--hell, you were the first person besides Mikey who ever did. And, I mean, you've always made it really, really clear how much you like the way I dress, but you also know exactly who I am underneath it all, and you want to be with me anyway."

Frank twists around awkwardly, raising one hand to cup Gerard's cheek. "Of course I do," he says, like it'd be crazy for anyone not to.

Frank kisses him, and Gerard closes his eyes and leans into it, kneeling up for a better angle. Frank turns on the bed to face him fully, sliding one arm around Gerard's waist and tugging until Gerard's half in his lap. Gerard twines his arms around Frank's neck and deepens the kiss, pressing their hips together to make Frank moan. The hand on Gerard's cheek moves around and up into his hair while Frank's other hand presses against the small of his back.

It's intense, but it's a slow burn, no sense of urgency or need to hurry. They stay pressed together like that, one lingering kiss after another, until Frank pulls back and rests his forehead against Gerard's.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he whispers breathlessly.

Gerard nods at once. They don't do it that way often, but if it's what Frank wants, he's definitely not going to say no. He kisses Frank once more, then pulls back so they can both get undressed.

Frank stands and sheds his clothing quickly, no messing around, then climbs back onto the mattress on his knees, facing the head of the bed and wrapping his hands around the top rail of the iron frame. Gerard undresses and kneels behind him, putting his hands on Frank's shoulders and kissing the back of his neck. Frank ducks his head, letting out a breath and relaxing under Gerard's touch. More than anything else in that moment, Gerard just wants to hold him, so he gives into the urge, sliding one arm around Frank's shoulders and the other around his chest, under his raised arms. Gerard knows he's not the only one grateful to be able to show his true self; Frank spends so much of his time trying to hide any sign of vulnerability, but when they're alone, he lets his walls come down.

Gerard stays like that for a few more moments, holding Frank tight, then pulls back a little and reaches into the nightstand drawer to slick his fingers up. He preps Frank slowly, circling with his fingers for a few seconds before pressing in, kissing Frank's shoulder when he draws in a sharp breath. Frank's not as used to this, so Gerard takes his time, stretching him gently, patiently. Finally Gerard pulls back, wiping his hand carelessly on the sheets. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and lines up, then pushes in slowly, his other hand gripping Frank's hip.

Frank makes a low noise in the back of his throat, his grip on the bed frame tightening. Gerard tilts his head to mouth at the side of Frank's neck, whispering reassurances and encouragement against his skin, and starts moving, setting an easy, gentle rhythm.

Frank pushes back against him, matching Gerard's pace and meeting every thrust. They move together, the bed frame creaking a little as they pick up speed. Keeping one hand braced on Frank's hip, Gerard reaches around with the other, wrapping his fingers around Frank's cock. Frank lets out a loud moan, rocking back hard, and Gerard gasps, steadying his hold on Frank's hip as it slips a little.

"You're so gorgeous like this," he whispers in Frank's ear. "I love you so much, baby--"

Frank reaches down and covers Gerard's hand with his own, angling his head back to press his forehead against Gerard's cheek as Gerard kisses his temple, his ear, wherever he can reach. "I love you," he replies breathlessly. "Gerard--"

They speed up even more, Gerard's thrusts becoming erratic, tangled fingers moving quick and rough on Frank's cock. Frank comes first, letting out a short, sharp cry as he spills over their joined hands. Gerard follows a moment later, gripping Frank tightly and moaning into his neck as he shudders all over.

Gerard drops his head down to rest his forehead against Frank's shoulder, panting for breath. After a moment, he pulls out gently, kissing Frank's shoulder when he whimpers. Frank lets go of the bed frame and twists around, reaching for Gerard, and they kiss as deeply as they can at the awkward angle.

It takes an effort to get up and go to the bathroom for a washcloth instead of just collapsing into bed. Once they get cleaned up, they lie down facing each other. Gerard slings his arm across Frank's waist, and Frank reaches out to smooth Gerard's hair back and stroke his cheek.

"We're gonna make it," he says, low, confident. "Whatever happens, wherever we end up, we're gonna make it together."

Gerard meets his eyes, smiling softly. "Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, we are."

* * *

Before long, what will hopefully be their last week in New York is drawing to a close. They have it all worked out; Mikey's coming in on the train Friday evening, by which time Frank and Gerard will have bought a cheap used car and loaded it with the things they're taking. That night, they'll have dinner with Grant and Mikey followed by Gerard's farewell performance at Rouge, and in the morning Grant and Mikey will see them off, with Gerard's promise to write to Grant and send Mikey a California address as soon as he can.

That's the plan, anyway.

The first thing that happens to throw the plan off is that Mikey's train gets delayed.

"--goddamn fallen tree on the tracks," he tells Gerard over the phone. "Took forever to clear."

"But you got into the city okay?" Gerard asks. He was in the middle of dressing for dinner when the phone rang, and now he's balanced awkwardly on one foot in the hallway, holding the earpiece in one hand and trying to fasten his right shoe with the other. "Where are you?"

"Yeah, I'm at Penn Station," Mikey says. "I just don't want to hold you up--should I head to your place, or just meet you...where are we having dinner, again?"

Gerard wins the battle against his shoe and lowers his leg, smoothing his skirt out. The dress he's wearing tonight is his absolute favorite, a slinky black halter gown with a slit up the side and beading all over it. Might as well make the most of his last night in New York. "The Palm Court at the Plaza," he tells Mikey. "Do you know how to get there? Maybe you should come here first, we can wait."

"Gee, I think if I hail a cab and say 'take me to the Plaza', the driver's gonna know which Plaza I mean," Mikey points out.

"...Right," Gerard says. "Well, then I guess let's just meet there."

There's a sudden sharp knock on the door, loud and insistent. Gerard looks up, startled, and then cranes his neck around to look at Frank, who's waiting on the couch and looks as surprised as Gerard feels.

"Mikey, hang on," Gerard says, and then to Frank, in a low voice, "He's at Penn Station and Grant knows we're meeting him at the Palm. I'm not expecting anyone else, you?"

Frank's expression turns wary and sharp in an instant. He gets to his feet, one hand reaching inside his jacket. "Stand clear of the door," he says, voice low, tone don't-argue-just-do-it flat.

Gerard swallows hard and ducks back into the hallway. "Mikey, just listen," he says, quick and deadly serious. Over his shoulder there's another knock, even louder. "In a second I'm either going to feel really silly or I'm gonna hang up without saying goodbye. If it's the second one, call Detective Toro and tell him to come here. _Don't_ come yourself."

"...What?" Mikey's clearly taken aback. "Gerard, what--"

Gerard ignores him, pressing himself against the living room doorway and watching Frank with his heart in his throat. One hand still in his coat, Frank stands alongside the door and reaches to turn the handle.

He opens it just a crack, with the chain still on, and then instantly tries to slam it shut. There's a loud thud and a sharp crack, and Gerard's door swings wide, the chain dangling where it's been torn free. Frank falls back a step, pulling a gun from his jacket, but it's too late, because Vince is standing there with his own gun pointed right between Frank's eyes. It all happens in an instant; beside Vince, Leo's foot is still outstretched from when he kicked the door in.

Gerard hangs up the phone.

"You're gonna want to drop that," Vince says amiably, and Frank lets go of his gun. "There you go. Kick it over to Leo. You," he adds, without even glancing in Gerard's direction, "come out here and join us, and keep your hands where we can see them."

Gerard swallows, his mouth desert-dry and his heart pounding, and steps out into the living room, hands open at his sides. Leo retrieves Frank's gun when Frank kicks it over, and stands next to him, putting the gun right against Frank's temple, and once he's there Vince lowers his arm and shifts his attention from Frank to Gerard.

"Well, well," he says, in that same friendly tone that kind of makes Gerard want to punch him, except for how that would be suicide. "Don't you look pretty? Big plans tonight?"

Gerard darts a glance at Frank, who's staring at him with so many things in his eyes--apology, anger, fear, caution--but Frank can't help him right now. He looks back at Vince, summons his nerves and commands his voice not to shake. "Dinner reservation, as a matter of fact. I don't suppose we could convince you to let us make it?"

Vince chuckles. "Sweetheart, another time you might be able to convince me of a lot," he says meaningfully. "But Leo and I need to have a talk with Frankie here, and something tells me he'll be more cooperative if you stick around while we have it." He waves his gun toward the sofa. "Have a seat."

Gerard obeys, clenching his hands tightly in his lap as he sits down. Vince walks over and leans against the arm of the sofa, which is about five feet closer than Gerard wants him, and looks back at Frank.

"Well?" Frank says. "You want to talk, start talking."

"You really don't know when not to mouth off, do you?" Vince says, sounding almost impressed. "But since you asked, I was hoping you could clear something up for me. There's this nasty little rumor going around that you might have talked to the cops. Well, a cop, specifically. Detective, name of Toro."

Frank's only change of expression is to raise one eyebrow. " _That's_ what you kicked the door in for? You could have just asked, and I would've told you that yeah, I talked to him. In the sense that he approached me and I told him to fuck off."

Vince wags his finger at Frank, smiling. "See, that's what _I_ said. Not Frankie, I said. If he said anything to a cop, it was either 'fuck off' or 'I want a lawyer', nothing else. But then I heard something else that bothered me, about you going to a forger for some IDs and paying him off not to tell anyone. That sounds like the sort of thing a guy would do if he was planning to skip town, don't you think?"

Frank snorts. "If I was gonna pay a forger off for something like that, don't you think I'd pay him enough that he'd actually keep his mouth shut?"

"Oh, of course, I'm sure you paid him well," Vince agrees. "Trouble is, your money would only count for so much if this forger's brother--his only brother, I might add--then happened to get himself in real, _real_ deep playing the ponies."

There's only a flicker of a reaction from Frank, and Gerard only catches it because he knows Frank's face so well. He wonders how well Vince and Leo know it.

"Now, a guy with a brother in trouble like that might talk out of his ass to try and save his brother's," Vince concedes. "But when you put those two rumors together--you maybe talking to a cop, and you maybe paying a forger for fake IDs you don't want anyone else to know about--well, I'm sure you can understand that paints kind of a troubling picture."

Frank looks at him squarely, not blinking. "The forger's full of shit and I've told the cops exactly nothing," he says, with utter conviction. "How much of an idiot do you think I am?"

Vince just smiles even wider. "I'm not sure you'd like my answer to that question, Frankie," he says, and then shrugs. "But you know what? You sound so sincere, I think I believe you."

Gerard holds his breath. It can't be this easy. There's no way--

"...But I don't think Leo does," Vince finishes. "Leo?"

Leo thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "Don't think I do, Vince."

Vince sighs, shaking his head. "Well, that's a shame. What are we gonna do about that?"

Frank stands firm, his jaw clenched. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me," he says, and more than anything else, he sounds tired. He sounds like he's running out of fight, and Gerard could have happily lived his whole life without hearing Frank sound like that.

Vince reaches out one hand to tuck Gerard's hair behind his ear, and Gerard holds his whole body ramrod-straight so he doesn't flinch or slap the hand away. "Well, I wouldn't want anything unpleasant to happen in front of Louise here," he says. "I wouldn't want to upset her. So I think the best thing would be if you and Leo take a walk in the alley out back, and you do your best to convince him. I'll keep Louise company up here."

Frank holds for another second or two before he breaks. "Look, Vince, just let her go," he pleads. "Do whatever the fuck you want to me, just leave her alone."

"Frank," Vince says, and shakes his head sadly. "You know as well as I do there's no point trying to bargain when you've got nothing to bargain with."

He nods to Leo, who grabs Frank by the collar and hustles him out the door. Frank casts one last desperate look at Gerard, and then he's gone.

Vince glances back at Gerard. He's leaning against the sofa very casually, looking relaxed, but the gun's still in his other hand, resting on his thigh. Gerard focuses on breathing steadily, trying to run through options in his head. Or non-options, as the case may be. There are knives in the kitchen and a thin, sharp stiletto tucked into the bottom of his handbag. Vince is a foot away from him holding a gun. Gerard's stronger than a would-be attacker might expect, and he knows how to use his weight to throw someone off-balance and go for the most vulnerable spots and dig his thumbs into a man's eyes. Vince has a gun. His neighbors or Carl the handyman might come running if Gerard screams. Gun. If Mikey did as Gerard said and was able to reach Toro, Toro could be on his way right now. That seems like the closest thing to a hope he's got.

"Guess it's just you and me now," Vince says, and straightens, moving around so he's in front of the couch. "And as long as we're waiting, maybe we should get to know each other a little better."

...Yeah, waiting for the cavalry might not be such a good option after all. Gerard stands, sidestepping quickly before Vince can block him in. "Don't take this personally, but I think I know you about as well as I want to," he says.

"Aw, come on." Vince advances on him, and Gerard backs up automatically, realizing too late that he's put himself in a corner. "I don't think you want to be unfriendly right now, do you?"

Gerard's back hits the wall, and he braces himself against it and lifts his chin defiantly, not knowing what else to do. "Look, I don't want any trouble--"

"Of course you don't." Vince closes the distance between them, grabs at Gerard's hip with one hand and raises the gun in the other. "So be a good girl and hold still."

The barrel of the gun rests against Gerard's cheek, and all of a sudden, he's deadly calm. He's seventeen again, on his knees in an alley. He's in the passenger seat of a stranger's car, fumbling for the door handle and bracing himself for impact. He holds himself perfectly still, waiting, and the gun is cool and smooth against his cheek and Vince's hand is rough as he slides his palm down Gerard's thigh and then back up, gathering the fabric of Gerard's dress and pushing it out of the way--and then he freezes.

"Surprise," Gerard says weakly, and then drives his knee into Vince's groin and his elbow into Vince's face with all the strength he can muster.

Vince strikes out reflexively even as he goes down; the gun slams against Gerard's cheek and Gerard tastes blood in his mouth, sharp and coppery. But then Vince is huddled on the floor with one hand between his legs and only a loose grip on the gun, and Gerard kicks it free and then dives for it. Vince recovers a little and throws himself after Gerard, landing half on top of him. They struggle, fabric rips, and then Vince is on top of Gerard, straddling him, but Gerard has the gun firmly in one hand, the other steadying his wrist, and the barrel pressed right in the center of Vince's forehead.

"If you're wondering if I know how to use this thing, the answer's 'yes'," he says flatly. "Of course, at this range with the safety off, it's pretty self-explanatory anyway."

"If you're wondering if I know how to use this thing, the answer's 'yes'," he says flatly. "Of course, at this range with the safety off, it's pretty self-explanatory anyway."

"You--" Vince says, halfway between disbelief and anger. "You're a _guy_."

"And you're fucking _heavy_ ," Gerard replies. "Up." He presses forward with the gun, forcing Vince back, and moves carefully, getting his legs under him while not letting the gun dip.

Vince's expression is starting to settle into anger, his hands clenching helplessly at his sides. "I should've guessed Iero's a fairy," he sneers. "That fucking--"

Gerard presses forward with the gun again, hard enough that he knows it'll leave a mark. "Given the circumstances, sugar, you might want to watch your language," he says sweetly.

Vince's sneer widens. "Fuck off, you're not gonna shoot me."

Gerard raises one eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not?"

"Believe me, asshole, you gotta be a certain type of person to shoot someone point-blank, and I can tell you're not it," Vince tells him. "You may have a dick under there, but you don't have the balls for that."

Gerard holds the gun steady, looking him right in the eyes. "You know what?" he asks after a moment, and then moves fast, whipping the gun to the side and slamming the butt into Vince's temple, doing it once more for good measure when he slumps on the floor.

"You're right," Gerard says calmly. He stands, steadying himself with a hand on the wall and tugging his dress--ripped now, thanks a lot, asshole--down over his legs. He sweeps his hair back from his face, touches his split lip gingerly, and looks around, taking stock of things.

After a moment's deliberation, he grabs Vince by the legs, dragging him to the bedroom with some difficulty. The bed frame's iron, the heaviest piece of furniture in the apartment, and Gerard uses one of Frank's neckties to tie Vince's wrists to the bedpost. He doesn't know how long Vince will be out and he doesn't know if he might be strong enough to just flip the whole bed over or something, but he does know how to tie a very tight knot. Once that's done, he picks up the gun again--it makes his skin crawl a little, heavy and foreign in his hand, but he'd much rather have it than not have it right now--and hurries out the door and down the stairs.

Outside, he moves cautiously around the side of the building, going slow. Then there's a noise from the back alley, a thud and a muffled sound of pain, and Gerard gasps and breaks into a run.

The sight that greets him as he rounds the corner isn't pretty. Frank's on his knees, blood on his face and shirtfront. Leo's looming over him, one hand gripping Frank's collar, the other balled into a fist and pulling back for another blow. Gerard shouts, raising the gun and cocking it, and they both look over.

Gerard holds the gun in both hands, his arms shaking a little now. "Get away from him," he says, and his voice shakes a little, too. "Get away from him or I swear to God--"

Leo lets go of Frank, who slumps on the ground, and turns to face Gerard, hands held up. "Okay," he says slowly. "Okay, let's not do anything hasty."

Gerard keeps the gun trained on Leo, but can't help but look over at Frank. He's hunched over, forehead nearly on the ground, and Gerard can't see his face. "Frank, are you okay?" No answer. " _Frank_?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Leo reach for the gun tucked into his belt, and then the world breaks down into a series of short, sharply-defined moments. Gerard brings his gun up and squeezes the trigger. Leo reels backward and slumps to the ground. At the sound of the gunshot, Frank's head snaps up, and as he lurches to his feet time seems to start moving normally again.

Frank bends over Leo, rolling him over and checking the wound.

"Is he dead?" Gerard asks, still clutching the gun in a death grip. "Shit, Frankie, did I kill him?" He's not going to be sorry if he did, but he is probably going to be sick.

Frank shakes his head. "He's breathing," he croaks. He straightens up and turns toward Gerard, and Gerard's breath catches as he gets a good look at Frank's face--his nose is probably broken, and one of his eyes is already swelling shut. Frank doesn't seem to have any concern for himself. He wipes his face carelessly on the back of his sleeve and steps toward Gerard, putting one hand on top of his and pushing the gun down a little.

"Let me--" he says, trying to loosen Gerard's hold. Gerard makes a low noise and tightens his grip reflexively, and Frank moves closer, curling both hands around Gerard's. "It's okay, baby, ease up. I've got it."

Gerard's shoulders slump and he lets go, lets Frank take the gun. Frank palms it easily with one hand, reaches out to put his other arm around Gerard, who presses close, unmindful of the blood on Frank's shirt.

"Where's Vince?" Frank asks, raising his hand to Gerard's face and thumbing gently at his split lip. "If he touched you, I'm gonna fucking--"

Gerard shakes his head, tilting his chin up. "He got a little fresh," he says, trying for a light, airy tone and doing about as well as he can under the circumstances. "I took care of it."

"...You took care of it," Frank repeats, then smiles, the expression a little gruesome with his face all messed up. "Of course you did." He leans in, kissing the corner of Gerard's mouth, and whispers, "That's my girl."

Gerard lets out a hysterical little laugh, clutching at Frank. "Shit, we'd better get out of here," he says. "If anyone calls the cops, we can hide the gun, but I don't think we can hide two unconscious gangsters anyplace around here."

* * *

As they approach Gerard's doorway, there are voices from inside, and Frank halts, pushing Gerard behind him. He's got the gun Gerard shot Leo with in his hand, tucked inside his lapel, and the one Leo took from him earlier is stuck in his belt, covered by the back of his jacket. Gerard presses close at his back and they hold still, waiting.

"--no, listen-- _listen_ , damn it. I know you got a call about shots fired on Amity, because I'm _on the scene_. That's right, Detective Ray Toro, 6th precinct, badge number 783. Look it up. But first call off the dogs and let me get the situation under control. If I need backup I'll call for it."

Gerard lets out a breath. "I told Mikey to call him," he murmurs to Frank, and Frank relaxes a tiny amount.

When they step through the door, Toro whips around from where he's standing in the hall and he goes for his side holster. Frank holds up both hands instantly, letting his gun dangle loosely.

"I've got this and one in my belt," he says calmly. "I'm gonna put 'em on the ground, okay?"

Toro nods, looking slightly wary, and waits while Frank does as he said, then eases his hand away from his holster. "You want to tell me exactly what happened here?"

"We got a visit we didn't exactly expect," Frank says. "I assume you found Vince--baby, where exactly is Vince?"

"Bedroom," Gerard and Toro say simultaneously.

"Okay, so you found Vince in the bedroom," Frank goes on. "Leo's in the alley out back, and someone should probably go stop his bleeding at some point, but we left him alive."

Gerard braces his hands on Frank's back, looking at Toro over Frank's shoulder. "Leo took Frank out back to beat him up and Vince tried to assault me," he says. "Under the circumstances, I think I showed admirable restraint."

One corner of Toro's mouth quirks up slightly. "All right. I know those two are scum, you don't have to sell me. But even though I just bought you some time, I'm gonna have to call this in pretty soon, and even if it was self-defense I somehow doubt you two want to take a ride downtown. So--"

He breaks off and Gerard spins around at the sound of running feet in the hallway, and then Mikey careens into the doorway, breathing heavily, Grant just a few steps behind him. Before anyone else can say anything, Mikey shouts "Gerard!" and launches himself forward. Gerard catches him, stumbling back a step, and hisses " _Mikey!_ "

Mikey looks up and freezes, finally seeming to notice that Toro's in the room. "I--" he starts haltingly.

"If you're trying to think of a good explanation for shouting 'Gerard' when you meant to shout 'Louise'," Toro says placidly. "There's, uh, really only one reason that comes to mind for that."

Mikey tightens his hold on Gerard. Frank steps in front of him again. Grant moves in close behind, laying a hand between Gerard's shoulder blades. Gerard lifts his chin and looks Toro straight in the eye.

"So what happens now?" he asks.

Toro looks at him for a second, and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, there's nothing apparent in his expression. Gerard has no idea what he might be thinking. Then, he shrugs.

"Well, like I was saying, I don't think you want to go downtown," Toro says as if he'd never been interrupted. "So, if I'm going to put in my report that, say, there were signs of a struggle but no sign of you two when I arrived, you'd better not still be here when I have to call this in."

Gerard stares at him for a moment, then huffs out a breath, closing his eyes. "Detective--"

"Seriously, I can't give you much time," Toro says. "Now if you'll all stop blocking the door and start using the time you have, I can go make sure Leo doesn't bleed to death. Even if he's scum, I don't need that on my conscience."

The four of them shuffle aside wordlessly, Gerard still surrounded by the other three, and Toro walks past them without another word.

"...So did I get punched harder than I thought, or did that just happen?" Frank wonders aloud.

"I'm fairly certain it did," Grant confirms.

Gerard shakes himself out of his stupor and pushes his way out of the knot of apparently unnecessary protection. "Okay, gift horse, mouth, etc. And you," he says, pushing at Mikey's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I said _don't_ come yourself, not 'come _and_ bring Grant with you'."

"I called the Plaza to tell him we wouldn't make dinner," Mikey says innocently. "He insisted."

"That's putting it lightly," Grant murmurs. His hand's still on Gerard's back, and he eases away reluctantly when Frank hands Gerard a coat. "What do you need to do now and how can we help?"

"Car's packed and parked out front," Frank says, crouching down in the corner to pry up the loose floorboard. "Thank god we did that earlier. I've got the money and the IDs right here. I know we planned on having more time for goodbyes--"

"So let's drive somewhere that's not here and say them," Mikey suggests. "Grant and I probably shouldn't be here when Toro calls it in, either."

There's no time for a last check around the apartment--if Gerard forgot to pack anything, he's just going to have to leave it behind. He gets his coat on and grabs his handbag, and as they hurry out the door he pauses just once, taking one more look around. Years spent making this place into his home, his own little corner of the city, and in another moment he'll be gone forever.

"Gee." Frank touches his arm, and Gerard turns away, not looking back again.

As they pile into the car outside, Gerard sees Toro coming back around from the alley. One last, brief look passes between them, and then Toro vanishes into the building, going back upstairs to make a call, do his job, and Gerard looks at Frank.

"Let's go," he says.

* * *

Frank drives until the George Washington Bridge is in sight, then pulls over on a quiet side street. "All ashore that's going ashore," he says. "Next stop...someplace between New York and California, to be determined how far we get before we're too tired to drive any farther."

They get out to say their goodbyes, and Gerard hugs Grant first.

"Would you go make my apologies at Rouge tomorrow?" he asks. "You can just say we had to leave sooner than expected, you don't have to tell Steve and Ricky I had to knock out two gangsters." He pauses, then adds, "Wait, on second thought, tell _everyone_ that, and feel free to make it five gangsters."

Grant laughs softly, and pulls back to cup Gerard's face in his hands. "Write to me when you can," he says, and leans in to brush his lips across Gerard's brow. "And take care of yourselves."

He steps back, and Gerard turns. Mikey and Frank are hugging, and then they pull apart and Frank moves to shake Grant's hand.

"Mikey," Gerard says, because he doesn't know what else to say. Mikey steps into his space and their arms go around each other.

"I'll find you, okay?" Mikey whispers, his voice choked with tears. "Whatever it takes, I'll get out there and find you."

Gerard nods, clinging to him tightly and not fighting his own tears. "I love you," he says. "And I'll see you soon."

They stay like that a few seconds longer, until Frank touches Gerard's back gently. "Baby, we've gotta go."

Gerard draws in a shuddery breath, kisses Mikey on the cheek and withdraws. Mikey wipes his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling, and Grant moves to stand next to him.

"I'll look after him," Grant says softly. "Go."

Frank and Gerard get back in the car, and Gerard turns as they drive away, watching Mikey and Grant until they're out of sight.

As they head for the bridge, Gerard slumps back in his seat, dropping his face into his hands. Everything that happened tonight--Vince and Leo, Toro's startling acceptance, their rushed goodbyes and the fact that this is it, that they're leaving, is crashing in on him. This isn't exactly the departure he imagined. He's wearing a ripped evening gown and his makeup's running down his face and his lip stings, and beside him, Frank's bruised and disheveled and still covered in dried blood, and they're hurtling down the highway with no real idea where they're going other than west.

And then Frank's hand settles on his shoulder, and when Gerard slumps sideways against him, Frank wraps him in a tight one-armed hug and kisses his hair.

"You okay?" Frank murmurs.

Gerard opens his eyes, looking steadily out at the road in front of them. "I will be."


End file.
